


The Stone That Sings

by Anonymaustrap



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek Online
Genre: Betazoid, Intrigue, Kidnapping, Kolinahr, Other, Spies, Tal Shiar, Vulcan, post-dominion war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6168544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymaustrap/pseuds/Anonymaustrap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Juliette Sri, Third Scion of the 433rd House of Betazed is a powerful telepath who must live on Vulcan to learn to control her abilities. Instead of the Vulcan Science Academy, she is forced to stay in a Vulcan Monastery in the Sas-a-shar desert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

On the day of her seizure, Juliette tugged hard on the grosgrain sash of her gown. The sash was meant to hang loose on her hip, but at twelve, all one could do was hitch and hope. Still, she loved the long, taffeta gown. It was light enough to be comfortable but modest enough to accommodate all but the most provincial species. Plum and russet were House colors, which made it perfect for official occasions. It was a dress made for a princess in exile.

The helmet that squatted on her head, however, was decidedly un-regal. A pale slug, squatted on her head with an awkwardness no dress could save. Its oddity had made it novel  to a seven year old, but over the years it had become her curse. She its weight foiled every attempt at grace, and forced her hair to remain short while her sisters tresses were gorgeously long. Most people were too polite to laugh, but she didn’t need empathy to see their compliments were tinged with more compassion than honesty. Boys especially, and that was the worst.

The doctors hadn’t cared about fashion, only function. But even as a shield from outside thoughts the helmet was a failure: It didn’t block them, it smeared them into a nauseating blur and filled her head with ants that crawled and clicked and itched. One day, she’d have a huge party, and invite all the important houses, and the festivities would culminate in transporting the helmet into the heart of a star. She sighed. Someday. But for now, as un-regal and disorienting as it was, nosebleeds and seizures were far less dignified. So, on it stayed.

"I'm Juliette Sri. I am Juliette. JU-liette Sri. Ju-LI-ette." She tried to pronounce her name as Vulcans would and hoped Master Surot and the Scientists would be impressed. Their language had so many more words, and each sounded as though it had been carefully considered, weighed, measured, and categorized, before being added to exactly in the right spot in the lexicon. It was ... logical. That was the word. 

Juliette was lifted off her feet in mid-LI. The interior of the shuttle spun as she was turned, pulled tight by her sister Lara’s hug. Her contact brought a rush of sudden, sweet affection that snuck by the helmet’s defenses, but it wasn’t long before it intervened and Juliette’s ants became a frantic swarm. She wobbled as Lara set her down.

Lara tapped the helmet. "You won't have to wear that much longer."

"But I’ll be stuck here on Vulcan and you’ll be back on Betazed,” Juliette said. As much as she loathed the helmet, it was a small price to pay for being with her sisters.

Lara’s response was interrupted as Kanara bustled in with an armload of bags, her typically neatly-tied raven plait partially undone and trailing. "I have your things in the top case, and your night clothes and toiletries in the trunk. I checked with customs, and your velvet creeper plant will have to stay on Betazed. If we forgot anything, we'll have to ship it later." She surveyed the mound of luggage, arms akimbo. "You're not taking enough clothes. I suppose you can replicate more, but I can only find last year's patterns."

"Matron said I shouldn't dress Betazoid here. I should try to fit in."

Lara smirked. "We could have the Vulcans point your ears."

Juliette pictured her ears long and pointed, and her brows angled upward, her face drawn and serious. “I don’t want to be a Vulcan.”

Kanara rolled her eyes. "You won’t be a Vulcan, and try not to look like you're going to prison."

Juliette grimaced. Maybe not a prison, but a lab. Maybe both. She glanced toward the front of the shuttle where the open hatch led to the spaceport of Shikahr City. On Vulcan, away from Betazed. Away from House Sri. Away from Home. Away.

Lara pinched Juliette’s arm. "That helmet only blocks  _ your _ empathy, sister. Cheer up. We’ll use the university’s projector to contact the Vulcan Science Academy. You'll hear so much from us you'll be begging for privacy."

"You’ll just be holograms." She’d see them, hear them, and even be able to touch them, but the most important part—their presence—the part she could empathically feel, even when it hurt, would be gone. No hologram had presence. Juliette’s gaze went from one sister to the other. In a matter of hours, they would be gone. 

Juliette gritted her teeth and shoved the ants aside plunging her awareness outside the confines of the helmet. For a second, she felt her sisters—Lara and Kanara—radiant and wonderful despite the accompanying hot needle of pain. She lunged, connecting. The helmet whined in protest. 

With a gasp in unison, her sisters glared at Juliette as helmet retaliated with a blast of vertigo. Juliette staggered until Lara first steadied her, then thumped the helmet with her fingertip. "Stop that, you little show off! You'll push yourself into another nosebleed, and then we'll have to find another dress."

Kanara sighed and straightened her braid with practiced dexterity. "Hurry, it's almost time anyway. Matron will be ready."

The hub’s gravity was Federation normal—just a little heavier than Betazed. A team of Vulcans worked with quiet efficiency to ready the shuttle for return, its passenger manifest diminished by one. Were they relieved to be home? They never looked relieved, nor did they ever look distressed. They were always calm. Juliette tried to match the Vulcan’s serene expressions. To her left, transport tubes reflected the amber sky as they snaked across a scoured, rocky plain toward the graduated spires of Shikahr City small in the distance. Somewhere, in that cluster was the Vulcan Science Academy, where they promised to heal what the very best Betazoid doctors could not. It’s not a prison, it’s not.

On her right, the plain pushed to the horizon, where regiments of blunted mountains slashed across the surface. Smooth, rolling dunes clung to the rock and nestled in crevices. The sunset’s shape boiled on the horizon, disrupted by waves of heat and the polarized screens of the shuttle port. 

“It’s just like the holos,” Lara said. 

“Yes, it is,” Kanara said, but her tone didn’t carry her agreement as a compliment. In the holos, the air had been dry and gritty, the sun so brilliant one always wore shades. But the air of the port was the same carefully regulated temperature meant to be tolerable for most species, but comfortable for none. The holos had also said that parts of Vulcan looked like Betazed, but wherever Juliette looked, she didn’t see anything that looked like Betazed. At All. There had been a war, Juliette remembered. It’s why the desert looked so—broken. 

Juliette was presented before her parents for approval. Matron wore a somber plum robe with narrow gold piping. Papa’s suit was even more severe—gray with pinstripes—his only indulgence for house colors was his plum cravat. Juliette was surprised to see his blond hair was combed neatly for once. The communication unit in his ear made him look more like staff than her father. Of all matrons consorts, she liked him best. His expression held excitement—maybe a little worry. There was too much uncertainty in reading expressions; it was so much easier sensing the emotions, but the last battle with the helmet left her woozy.

“Matron,” Juliette said to her mother, “Kanara said I can’t take the velvet creeper.”

Matron knelt, cupped Juliette's chin and stuffed her bangs beneath her helmet. “Vulcan has a delicate ecosystem. Your father will take care of it, won’t you, Lars?”

“It will get the best of care. I will ask Professor Halan will help me.”

Matron turned her head to face her. Her eyes were black as Juliette's, with a soft ring of gray around the edge of the iris. "Your father runs universities, Juliette. He can handle your creeper.” She smiled at Juliette’s nod. We are so very proud of you."

Juliette reached out again, chasing her mother’s words back to the feeling that spawned them. This time, helmet constrained her, and the exchange made her stomach churn. "Mother, I can't feel you. I can't feel Papa. I can't feel anything."

Her mother’s eyes softened. "You will in time. You just have to heal. But for now, look at me. Use your eyes to see how I feel. Listen, and hear me with your ears. You knew how your father and I felt about you before you became aware, didn't you?”

Juliette tried to remember, but all she could feel were the knots in her stomach. She nodded anyway.

“We will not be so far away." 

Juliette rolled her eyes. "Mother, This is the  _ Beta  _ Quadrant. Betazed is in the  _ Alpha  _ Quadrant."

Matron’s pleasant expression was replaced by an all-too-familiar knotted brow and a smirk. "Oh, aren't we the clever one! Do not let me hear that you have taken such tone with your hosts."

"Yes, Matron." 

Her mother smiled and gently took Juliette’s hands in her own. "You are a scion of House Sri. Light years are nothing to us."

"Yes, Matron," Juliette tried to keep her voice from shaking and attempted to match her mother’s pleasant expression.

"Be honest. Show compassion."

"Yes, Matron.”

"They are the smartest beings in the galaxy. They have said they can help you manage your ability. They do not lie. They will help you, and you will come home.”

“And never wear this stupid helmet again?”

“Daughter. Third Scion of House Sri. That helmet was made by the honorable Twelfth House. We are most grateful to their efforts.”

“Yes, Matron,” Juliette said, and dutifully recited, “The Third Scion of House Sri is most grateful to the Twelfth House for their efforts.” The Twelfth House  _ had _ been generous, but it wasn’t working as well as it had. Eventually, it wouldn’t help at all, and then it would just be an ugly old helmet, and she’d be--

Juliette felt her mother tap the plastic shell. 

“Good. And no, you will not have to wear that stupid helmet again.” Matron said with a hidden smile.

Juliette sighed. That day could not come soon enough.

Lars had been listening to his earpiece. “Dr. Surot regrets not being able to be at the shuttleport and has sent an associate—his name is Lorot, and he and his family will meet us at the half gravity point.”

Matron shrugged. “So much for Vulcan precision. Let them know we appreciate their thoughtfulness and meet them halfway, then have tea at the concourse. Full Vulcan gravity is not such a trial that we need to rush our departure. We should get a sense of this Lorot and his clan. Let’s not keep them waiting."

With each successive section of the walkway down the spoke toward the main hub, gravity increased slightly until at halfway, it split the difference between Vulcan and Betazed. Just beyond the centerpoint stood a trio of Vulcans. They looked different than the Vulcans she had seen before: Their matching robes—beige with a mustard scapular—and their haircuts were flat bowls, even on the woman. For a moment, Juliette wondered if they were not part of some misplaced museum hologram, distributed throughout the port to educate travellers as they rushed to their destination.

The pitch in the helmet changed. Juliette looked back to Mother and Papa exchanging a concerned look. 

“Mother…” Juliette murmured.

Papa squeezed her shoulder. “There is a monastery near here, and I’m sure it’s not unusual for monks to work with the Science Academy. How exciting for you to meet real Vulcan monks.”

Kanara leaned forward to whisper in Juliette’s ear. "Don’t let them cut your hair like that!" Her whisper ended in a yelp as Matron pinched her arm.

The Vulcans were tall and narrow, like the jagged peaks outside. Juliette stepped forward and tilted her head up to look at them. In the heavier gravity, the helmet overbalanced and made her head spin. The air had become hot, and she tried taking deeper breaths to calm herself. The Vulcan’s expressions were unreadable to the point of being disconcerting.

"Live long and prosper," the tallest said. His Federation standard was smooth, his accent added a lilt to his words.

"Peace and long life," Juliette responded in Vulcan, remembering to form her hand in the proper gesture.

The woman continued in Federation Standard. "I am P'nem. Mine husband Lorot. Our son Danek."

Juliette repeated the names in her mind, wobbling as the introductory words she had worked so hard to remember slipped away. It was an honor that Matron let her speak for the family, and she very much wanted to impress her new hosts with her Vulcan phrases.  _ I am Juliette, Third Scion of House Sri. I present my Matron, Sedna, First Scion Kanara, Second Scion Lara, and Matrons Consort Lars. I am honored and grateful that you are my hosts on Vulcan. _

As she began to speak, the helmet turned silent, and she was struck dumb with wonder at the clarity of minds around her: Matron’s intense scrutiny of the Vulcans, enveloped by Papa’s comfort, mixed with caution and sadness. Kanara’s worry, sharp and sweet in its own way, Lara’s excitement and intense curiosity and the Vulcan’s surprise. 

Her sphere expanded. She felt the shuttle pilot’s eagerness to return slipped into the cascade of emotion. In the next spoke over, a squabble in a queue, lost baggage. Not everyone was Vulcan in the port. Travellers in distress, falling in and out of love, confusion, dismay, they fell to Juliette as if she was an inescapable gravity. They clung, compressed, twisted.

Juliette looked back with dismay as the din of emotion turned into an agonizing shriek. The helmet was supposed to stop this. She reached to Matron for comfort, but all their worry and love and care burned against her mind. She clawed at the helmet. The walkway was no longer beneath her feet, but pressed hard against her cheek. Her arms trembled rubbery as she tried to push herself up, only to be shoved back down by a crush of nausea. He stomach gave way and refused to stop until she she was too weak to move. And still the emotions came, pushing and filling until she felt herself splinter.


	2. Adjustments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juliette Sri awakens on Vulcan near the Forge

Juliette awoke to silence and chilled air. She kept her eyes closed, savoring the quiet of not just sound, but mind as well. The bed was firm and the sheets felt cool on her skin. As she turned her head, she realized she was free of the helmet, and slowly reached with her awareness to get a sense of her surroundings.

Juliette froze when she heard a stern voice.  “Do not do that.”

She was surprised she had not sensed P’nem’s presence. She slowly opened her eyes. As her vision adjusted to the dim light, she made out the Vulcan on a small kneeling bench next to the doorway.

“Are you in pain?”

Juliette’s head ached slightly, but she shook it anyway. “Just a headache.” The words felt dry in her mouth.

P’nem rose from the bench and from offered Juliette a stoneware cup. Juliette sat up, took the cup gratefully, and drank the cool water inside.

“That is an improvement over your previous condition.  However, you must continue to avoid telepathy.”

Juliette stopped drinking only once the cup was empty. “I – Yes. I am so very sorry.”

P’nem took Juliette’s empty cup and refilled it from a pitcher. “For what?”

“I did not mean to get sick on you.”

P’nem returned the cup to Juliette. “There is no need to apologize. You were sick. _Are_ sick. Drink slower.”

Juliette took a small sip and set the cup on the table by the bed. “It’s called Ehlar Syndrome.”

“We have a different name for it here, but the symptoms are similar -- you are hyper sensitive to emotions around you, and you project them back. In Vulcans, it is called Bendii Syndrome, usually a condition of the very old.”

“Is there a cure for it?”

P’nem paused before answering. “No, there is not. But your condition, as I understand it, is not the same. Therapies that have not been successful with Bendii may succeed in your case.”

Juliette sunk back into bed. The pillow was a low ridge in the thin mattress -- far different than the overstuffed pocket of down she was used to on Betazed. Still, it was comfortable as the gravity and silence pulled her downward.  She stared drowsily at the flat expanse of the ceiling. “I am grateful that you were willing to host me.”

“Our home was a logical choice. Our family is telepathically proficient, and it is a small matter for you to stay a few days until the Vulcan Science Institute is ready for you. At least, here, you can begin to acclimate to our gravity and climate."

"Is the Institute nearby?"

"It is not. The Institute is in ShiKahr City, which is the closest transport hub to Gateway. Gateway is inundated with tourists who would test themselves in the Sas-a-Shar desert. While they may have the desire and even the stamina to complete Surek’s journey, precious few non-Vulcans have the mental discipline to acquire more from the experience than a ‘t-shirt’, or some other memento of questionable value.  It would be non-productive to expose you to their uncontrolled emotions.”

Her eyes half-lidded, Juliette nodded numbly. “May I contact my parents?”

“Communications in and out of the Sas-a-Shar desert requires specialized equipment due to geological instability from the Time of Awakening. We have no such equipment here.  I will make arrangements for access to such once you are able.  In the time of awakening, you see, there was-- ”

P’nem’s abrupt stop brought Juliette back to consciousness with the terrible realization she’d been snoring. “I’m very sorry--” she mumbled.

“It is no matter; I will let you sleep.” P’nem said as she turned off the light.

ooOOoo

Most of the house outside of her room was a temperature akin to hot summer days on Betazed. It only took a glance at the tunic and breeches that were worn by P’nem for her to realize that what she would normally wear was by no means appropriate. Besides, the portable replicator she brought didn’t work at all.  While Juliette was grateful that her room was kept considerably cooler than the rest of the house, she could only stare at the walls or the static on her PADD for so long before she needed to explore.

By the time Juliette awoke, Lorot had already left. P’nem said he did geological research in ShiKahr and left early to gather samples while the day was still cool.  Danek was preoccupied with house duties or secluded in his room, either studying or meditating.

P’nem, however, was ever present. When Juliette wandered the house, P’nem accompanied her, giving her the feeling that she was under polite surveillance. Even when Juliette tried to explore unnoticed, it was never long before P’nem appeared and stood quietly nearby.

While visiting another House on Betazed, Juliette learned how important it was to find nice things to say about the decor, the furnishings, or a particular sculpture. But this series of rooms around a small courtyard seemed less decorated and more configured. Each room seemed to have only one specific function -- dining, eating, sleeping, storage.  There were no pebble mosaics on the floors to tickle her bare feet when she ran over them, no delicate statues cleverly lit within niches in the walls, certainly no chaises covered in devore to lounge upon.  Desperate to deliver any kind of kindness or compliment, she was thrilled to see that the dining room table, surrounded by thin gray cushions,  was meant for kneeling, not sitting.

“Oh, that looks fun!” Juliette stared at her reflection in the polished obsidian tabletop.

“How so?” P’nem asked so dryly that Juliette was afraid she’d finally offended her host. For Juliette, the idea of dining on one’s knees was novel. She decided not answering was by far the safest approach, and retreated. She tiptoed through the rest of the house as she would an empty museum, and hoped her Vulcan hosts were not too offended by her silence, even as she struggled to understand theirs.

Meals were by no means fun, but at least, they were informative and satisfying. The Vulcans explained each dish with all the clinical accuracy of a dissection, and while on Betazed, her family ate a small amount of meat, the Vulcans seemed to be strict vegetarians.  Each took a side of the table, sitting exactly at midpoint. They dined with a methodical efficiency.  At first, Juliette complimented every dish, but after repeated blank stares, she finished her meals in silence.  

By their second meal together, Juliette noticed differences in the Vulcans’ appearance that she had not seen before.  Danek had the longest eyebrows of the family. His face was long like his father's, but his jaw was less square. P’nem’s pointed eyebrows had a gentle slope that ended quite close to her bowl-cut hairline. Juliette decided Danek had acquired the best features of his mother and father -- his upturned ears ended in straight points resembled his father while his muddy gray eyes mirrored his mother. The features combined to make a face shape that echoed his parent’s but was very much his own.

As she studied Danek, she felt P’nem’s scrutiny like a shadow against her mind. She resisted every temptation to look at her. Instead, focused intently on the pale depths of her Plomeek soup. She looked up after a moment.  P’nem was still staring, her brow arched slightly.  Her face was round, and would have been soft, if not for the hard undercurrent to her features that was not specifically unkind, but never playful. Juliette returned to her soup and withered under P’nem’s gaze, resolving to be more surreptitious about who she studied.

On the third day, she felt restless and well enough to go outside. The console by the entryway, however, read the outdoor temperature as 54 degrees Celsius. Juliette had never experienced a temperature so hot. Part of her was curious and wanted to feel it, if only for a moment.

“We will be able to go out in the early evening if you wish,” P’nem said, never far away.

“Do you go outside when it is this hot?”

“Only if it is necessary. It would be uncomfortable and we would not want to be out for extended periods of time.”

From the window of a small sitting room, she was able to look beyond the broad mesa on which the house sat, to watch the sun bleach and broil the desert. The air above the ground shimmered briskly, distorting the view of the far off spiked pillars that made up the Sas-a-Shar Mountains.  She watched for several minutes, hoping to see a lizard or a bird, or any other semblance of life, but no creatures moved across the sun-blasted rocks and dirt.

“The courtyard has a shade over it,” P’nem suggested. “Perhaps you might find the temperature tolerable.”

The courtyard enclosed a small garden that was kept shaded by a canopy of sheer mesh that let in most of the light and cooled the air.  She sat on a small bench and listen to the burble of the rock fountain. While the garden reflected the desert, Juliette felt her gaze drawn by its symmetrical arrangement. The rocks, the trees the fountain all formed interconnected patterns and shapes.  In this way, the garden became her night sky; the arrangement of rocks and plants her constellations. She found new ones the more she looked, and named them until she dozed.

She awoke to a deep, gravelly rumble. Danek was by a wall panel and the mesh was retracting to be replaced by a much sturdier tarp. Through the shrinking gap of roof, Juliette saw what had been a cloudless amber sky boil with maroon clouds edged in crimson. A hot zephyr fitfully yanked at the tarp with a soft whistle.

“Is it going to rain?” Juliette asked.

“Highly improbable,” Danek focused on the console. “It is not the rainy season. It is, most likely, an electrical storm.”

The tarp completed its journey. The light in the courtyard dimmed to a crimson twilight. Sand sifted down the narrow gap between the tarp and the wall with each gust of wind, glowing in a sliver of daylight. Danek sat on the bench opposite Juliette and watched the tarp ripple. The reddish light made the leaves of the thickset trees in the center of the garden glow.

“What are those?” she asked, attempting the phrase in Vulcan as she pointed to the trees.

“That is Induku,” he replied in Federation Standard.

“What is that?” Juliette asked again in Vulcan and pointed to a row of shrubs with violet leaves. Each leaf was edged in blue.

“That is kal’ta,” he said, again switching to Federation Standard.

Juliet sighed, crossing her arms.

After a moment of silence, Danek asked, “Do you want me to identify any more plants?”

“I _wanted_ to speak Vulcan.”

“Oh. I was hoping to practice my Federation Standard.”

Juliette sensed a compromise and brightened. “Alright, then say it in both. I’ll repeat the Vulcan. What is that over there?”

“That is Mah’ta,” he replied, first in Federation Standard, then in Vulcan.

“That is Mah’ta,” Juliette repeated.

“Mah’ta.”

Juliette frowned, not hearing a difference in their pronunciations. “Mah’ta.”

“I suppose that is sufficient,” Danek said carefully. “Mah’ta is used to make ceremonial tea.”

“I like tea,” Juliette said in Vulcan.

Danek blinked. “I am not sure you meant that.”

“But I do like tea. My mother makes Jestral tea. It’s part of all of our family gatherings.”

“But you said ‘like’ as if the tea enjoyed your company.”

“Oh. What should I say?”

“tizh-tor.”

“Tizh-tor?”

Danek blinked. “I suppose that would be sufficient.”

“It sounds the same to me,” Juliette protested, crossing her arms. She felt a tiny sliver of alarm from Danek and forced her tone to be more gentle. “I’m sorry. I just do not hear a difference.”

“You do not hear with Vulcan ears.”

“I will practice. It’s just that I cannot learn a language like we do on Betazed.”

Danek arched a brow. “How do you do that?”

“We connect telepathically, so you can feel how it is to speak the words, what the meaning is behind them. It’s really--“

“You do not have to touch someone to use your telepathy. Why would you bother with speaking?”

Juliette frowned, thinking. “We’ve always spoken – and our language is a mix. Many Betazoids find it easier to talk to a crowd than use telepathy, and a few Betazoids are not telepathic at all. In formal situations, almost everything is telepathic.

“Oh, I—“

P’nem’s voice cut into their conversation. “Juliette.”

Danek and Juliette turned to P’nem, who was under the courtyard arch, wearing a light robe over her dark brown traveling breeches and top. She held another robe out to Juliette. “Try this on.”

Juliette struggled into the robe and shook her arms until the  tips of her fingers peeked out from the sleeves. The hem dragged on the ground and she gathered it up into her belt.

“It will have to do,” P’nem said after a moment of tugging Juliette’s robe into place. “We are going to the monastery. Get ready.”

Danek quietly left the courtyard with a nod to Juliette.

“Check to see if you have anything packed for hiking, or we will have to make do.”

Juliette thanked Gods Fortunate that Kanara had packed hiking clothes. The robe was still too large, but at least, with the right tucks and ties she could make it – what was the word Danek had said? Sufficient.

Juliette was the last to arrive at the entranceway. Everyone else was armed. Danek had a short metal club that ended in a curved blade strapped across his back.  Lorot and P’nem had rifles. Juliette froze at the sight of the weapons. Before, she had only seen weapons like those carried by staff.

“Is this trip dangerous?” Juliette asked, her heart already pounding.

“No, it is not,” P’men said offering her a pair of goggles and a face mask.

“Then why are you carrying weapons?” she asked as she took the goggles and mask.

“It is not dangerous because we have weapons,” Lorot replied.

“If we keep a good pace, we will get you to the monastery before the worst of the storm,” P’nem turned to Juliette. “Though you must stay close.”


	3. The Sandstorm and the Sehlat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juliette and her hosts journey to a nearby monastery

A scorching wind peppered Juliette’s cheeks with hot grit. P’nem cinched the breath mask around Juliette’s nose and mouth. Between the mask and the goggles, Juliette felt trapped in the helmet again. She looked up at the silt-filled sky and the churning clouds punctuated with ominous pulses of lightning. 

She was supposed to stay with her host family until the Vulcan Science Institute was ready for her. No one had even mentioned a monastery. She remembered from the holos she and Papa had watched that Vulcan monasteries were places far from other people, even other Vulcans, where monks went to be alone and meditate.

Alone. Juliette shuddered. At the end of every Betazoid passion opera, the villain, who refused every chance at redemption,  was exiled far away by the disappointed matron -- a distant island, a desolate moon, or in one case, an oubliette under the ocean. The chorus, that moral compass of every passion opera, projected the terror of being eternally alone with no one to share your thoughts and experiences. In one opera, the villain had broken free from his captors and leaped into an energy core, rather than face isolation. When she wrote her own passion opera, the villain would be exiled on Vulcan.

But  _ why  _ were they were sending her away? She studied each of her hosts in the hopes she would gain some glimpse into how she had offended them so terribly. Whatever she had done, it had been so offensive the Vulcans were willing to brave the storm to be rid of her. Was it because she’d been talking to Danek? Was it something she had said? Her Vulcan pronunciation didn’t seem that terrible, but as Danek had said, she didn’t hear with Vulcan ears. And there was that dinner when she had been staring at everyone. She replayed events in her mind. Forward, backward, over and over. Had she been kind enough? Too kind? Vulcans were impossible to read. Things were so much easier at home, where people felt when someone took offense. But on Vulcan -- she might as well be among holograms. 

“Mine wife,” Lorot’s said over the wind.

“Yes, Mine husband?” P’nem replied, deadpan as she checked her rifle. The gusts tugged at her cowl.

He stared at the line of black clouds for a long moment before he responded. “I cannot help but wonder about the logic of this decision.”

“The decision is my own, mine husband. You and Danek could remain here.”

“But then who, mine wife, would protect the storm from you?” His gaze went back to the advancing clouds. “We had best get moving.”

A blast of wind knocked Juliette off balance. P’nem caught her collar and pulled her upright. “Stay close to Danek. He knows the trail.” 

“I-” Juliette started.

“What?”

She wanted to ask, to apologize, to find out about the monastery. But the words drifted into a sigh. If she was to be thrown out, there was no sense in causing further trouble. 

“I’ll stay close.”

Lorot was first along the trail, followed by Danek, Juliette, and lastly, P’nem. An escort of saltation followed them along the rocky trail on a blistering wind. The gentle incline at the top of the mesa steepened into a slick downslope near the bottom, scoured smooth by centuries of wind and wear. Juliette slipped several times , the last caused her to skid several meters and plow into a drift of silt. No one spoke or laughed as Juliette clambered up and trudged through the ankle-deep powder.

As they topped the second rise, her legs burned. The gravity she thought she’d become accustomed to weighed on every footfall. By the fourth, her legs were quivering and rubbery. Her mask fought every ragged breath. Danek looked back to her several times and slowed his pace when the distance became too great. Twice, he ran ahead to ask Lorot to slow down. Juliette staggered along until she stumbled over a rock and went sprawling. P’nem hauled her up and after a terse examination, gestured for her to stay put. The three Vulcans conferred while Juliette hunched over with her hands on her knees, panting for air. She felt a tug on her sleeve and looked up to P’nem, who leaned close and shouted to be heard over the wind. 

“We have not come as far as I expected.” 

Juliette tried to apologize between ragged gasps for air. 

“We’ve come too far to go back, but we will not reach the ravine before the lightning storm overtakes us. However, there are two storm fronts so we will wait for the first one to pass and get to the ravine before the second one arrives.”

Juliette gave a vague nod as she tried to sort P’nem’s words from the dust and wind. She couldn’t get enough air through her mask, but knew better than to take it off -- each sweltering gust burned her skin. Her robe, which had started out a pale beige, was dyed dull red. P’nem tapped the breather on Juliette’s mask and said something to Danek. He huddled close to Juliette and showed her how to clear her mask’s filter while P’nem and Lorot pinioned a thin mat to the ground with thin metal rods. Lorot sat on one side of the mat; P’nem sat on the other. Danek led Juliette sat together in the center and sat upwind to shield her. Over Danek’s shoulder, Juliette saw a boiling wall of dust that swallowed the hills and rocks as it surged forward. She gasped frantically through her mask as it came closer and gripped Danek’s shoulder. 

Danek turned and stared at the advancing red wall for a long moment. He turned back to Juliette. “It--It shouldn’t be long.” He stared again. “Not too long, at least.”

The storm absorbed the daylight as the wall blasted into them. Juliette hunched down to avoid the worst of the gale. P’nem and Lorot were indistinct shadows in the haze though they sat only a meter away. A tingle rippled down Juliette’s neck and along her scalp and arms. Danek yanked her downward as a brilliant flash punctured her cowl, followed by an earth-rending roar that felt more like an earthquake. She would have run if not for Danek’s tight grip on her robe. He pushed her back up during a pause in the thunder and brought his cowl against hers. Static splayed his fine black hair against the inside of his cowl. 

“Do not leave the mat for any reason. It is insulated, and the ion rods should protect us from electrocution.”

She glanced to the side. A half dozen columns of lightning carved glowing trails in the ground as they bucked and arced between twisting cyclones of grit. Juliette could not tell afterimage from actual lightning as the rods around the mat glowed. The heat that came off them surpassed that of the wind.

“Should?” She screamed to Danek as a surge of electricity prickled over her skin. Lightning danced along the tops of the rods, making the tips glow brilliant orange before fading back to a sullen red. She clutched Danek’s sleeve. A loud crack of thunder swallowed Danek’s first attempt to answer. Juliette was too exhausted to flinch.

“--with a high degree of probability.”

Juliette huddled down, trembling, wishing she had a pillow like she had when she had endured the worst storm on Betazed in over a decade. Like so many six year olds, she had hidden under a mound covers with a pillow clenched tight around her head. She had felt Papa’s presence first, then Matron’s as they reached out to comfort her. They weathered storms as a family -- together. It seemed forever ago -- back before contact  _ hurt  _ so. That storm had passed, and she’d never been scared of storms again -- until now. No storm on Betazed could compare to the fury around her and she was alone with companions that didn’t join together for support. Perhaps it could not hurt to use her awareness to just listen -- to know the Vulcans were alright.

She forced herself to take deep breaths and pushed her awareness inward. Her outward senses dulled and the storm became a background rumble. Danek’s presence was first. He radiated worry like the ion rods radiated heat. As much as she wanted to help him, she knew combining his fear with hers would only make things worse. 

Juliette was grateful for the calm that Lorot radiated, and took comfort in it. P’nem’s self-control echoed her husband’s and was coupled with a hard, quiet intensity. Juliette let the calm she sensed displace her apprehension, pleased that neither Vulcan seemed to notice. Not even when a trio of lightning bolts split a rod disrupted her composure. She observed the eruption of sparks dispassionately and flicked the smoking embers off their robes. Danek’s grip on her arm tightened as his anxiety threatened to rupture his composure. Her response was instinctive, to reach out and share the serenity she borrowed, but a different sensation made her freeze.

Another presence.

It wasn’t Vulcan; it was something feral. Alien, but it's hunger and anticipation were as familiar as they were primal. It radiated a different kind of calm -- the certainty of a hunter at home among the torrents of grit and lightning. She pressed close to Danek. 

“There’s something nearby -- some kind of animal.”

Danek lunged toward Lorot and tugged at his robe, and after a quick conference, flipped around to face P’nem. The high whine as Lorot’s rifle charged mixed with the wind. Danek resumed sitting as P’nem leaned back toward Juliette. A thick coating of dust had merged her face, goggles, and mask into a single form. Juliette looked askance at the rifle.

“This animal you felt -- how sure are you?” 

“I still feel it,” Juliette said over the wind. Her throat burned from so much shouting.

“Only sehlat hunt during storms. Which way is it?”

P’nem’s tone made Juliette desperate to ask what a sehlat was, but she closed her eyes and let her mind sift the wind. After a moment, she pointed. 

P’nem sat up, brought the carbine up to her shoulder, and fired an arc of three shots where Juliette indicated. The carbine coughed and bucked each time. Juliette scrambled across to P’nem, and seized her shoulder as she shouted, “Stop! Don’t kill it!”

P’nem reached back and flipped Juliette around, pinning her to the mat in one fluid motion. She leaned close to Juliette’s ear, “Do not be foolish. If I do not convince it to search for easier prey, it will kill us and eat us. Do you understand?”

Juliette nodded wide-eyed, her breath short.

“Is it still stalking us?”

Juliette let her focus slide away from P’nem to listen. She nodded.

P’nem hauled Juliette up and seated her by her side. “Show me where.” 

Juliette clambered to her knees and pointed into the swirling curtain of sands. P’nem fired another volley. Juliette flinched each time the carbine fired. She squinted into the dusty gale, trying to catch a glimpse of a creature she was learning more by feel than sight, but all she could see were shadows shifting among the lightning. It was closer; its hunger stabbed at Juliette’s belly. She trembled at the certainty of its purpose, and with a deep breath, reached further with her awareness. Not just to listen, but to touch. 

She had touched animals -- birds and riding murtoki-- before. She’d even touched an uttabear before Matron had flicked the back of her head and warned her to be careful. Matron had been as proud as she had been angry at Juliette’s accomplishment, but this -- this was not the hazy cunning of an uttabear. This was a keen, predatory intelligence. Juliette smelled the ozone in the air through its nostrils, the sand under its paws as it slid from shadow to shadow. Juliette passed into the shadows to become one of them and reached at the hunter.

_ She smelled four. Three were Vulcan, one was -- something else, sharp with fear. Their scents increased the hunger in her belly. Yes, they had weapons, but they could not see her as she slid between the bolts of lightning. They were close -- just a leap away. She crouched, poised for the one using her weapon. She would pounce on that one first, then kill the others before they could respond. She waited for the right flash of lightning to pounce...now.  _

Juliette felt light in the wind as the sehlat leaped. Through its eyes, she saw them, clustered on the mat -- pale figures illuminated by flickering lightning. She tried to pull her awareness back, but became tangled in the animal. She was both; Juliette on the mat grabbed the hot barrel of the carbine and shoved it upward toward the Juliette in the air. She heard the sizzle of skin on the hot barrel, her own terrified cry, and, at last, the cough of the carbine. For a moment, she returned to herself and her hands blazed with pain as she looked up at P’nem’s dismayed expression before her awareness snapped back to the sehlat.

_ She landed hard on the sand and rocks and twisted to her feet. Her side ached from the weapon, but that discomfort was nothing compared to the gnawing in her belly. She was not among them as she had planned, but she was close. She coiled her legs to spring again. _

Juliette’s felt hot needles in her head as she released her terror into the mind of the sehlat, and she gathered the pain and sent that as well.

_ Her head was on fire with something dangerous -- something terrible. The pain was everywhere and she couldn’t see what to slash and bite to make it stop. _

Through her connection, Juliette received the sehlat’s terror mixed with her own.  She threw it back each time it returned, over and over until it cycled on its own. Juliette could no longer hang on. Her awareness slid away into a blur of sensation -- snarling in the desert, spinning and clawing at everything -- thrashing on the mat, tearing away P’nem’s mask, clawing at her cheek.  Her own goggles had slipped down to her chin, and her eyes stung from the dust and grit.

_ The pain was all over. It came from everywhere. All she could do was get away from it -- run as fast as she could and hide from the thing that stalked in the lightning and shadows. _

Juliette’s connection fell away as the sehlat fled. Her own sensations emerged through a hazy veil of pain. P’nem had somehow put her goggles back over her eyes. Juliette’s hands throbbed, her palms slick with broken blisters encrusted with sand. P’nem’s words seemed far away, her face dirty and etched with red scratches. Juliette wished she could have seen the sehlat, and wanted to tell P’nem she was sorry for clawing her. She wanted to tell them all that she hadn’t meant to offend, but right now she wanted -- needed -- was to close her eyes, if only for a bit.


	4. A Fortress, A Monastery

Juliette opened her eyes and focused on flickering clouds framed in basalt. She was lying on the ground, her head on P’nem’s lap. The raw skin on her forehead and cheeks stung as P’nem dabbed at her with a damp cloth. Juliette struggled to sit upright, and yelped as she put weight on her palms. 

“We are in the ravine, and for the moment, between the two storm fronts.” P’nem said as she eased Juliette to her feet. “The monastery is not far, but the incline can be steep. We will take many breaks for you to rest.”

Juliette looked at her hands mummified in gauze. The pain had dulled to a throbbing itch. “How--”

“Lorot carried you. We must keep moving. Injured sehlat are even more dangerous. Just walk. This way.”

Juliette forced herself to move as Danek took her arm to guide her. She lost track of time, floating through a dimly lit haze of upward sloping switchbacks until one turn ended abruptly at a pair of blackened doors, almost invisible against the basalt. The doors were twice as tall as Lorot, their imposing uniformity interrupted by discolored sections where the stippled metal surface was bowed and melted.

The air was clear enough for them to remove their masks and goggles. Juliette followed a pattern of eruptions in the metal with her gaze. “Is this a fortress?”

“It was a fortress,” Denak answered with a quiet reverence. “One of the few that remain standing. Now it is a monastery.”

“House Renat was a fortress on Betazed.”

“Is it a monastery as well?” Danek asked.

“No, more of a park...” Juliette answered sadly, her voice trailed off in memory. Renat was filled with scenic cafes where vacationers gathered to watch the sun set over the ocean. Matron had reserved the top of the ancient gatehouse for Juliette’s celebration of emergence. An extravagance, yes, but most Betazoids became telepathic in their teens, and Juliette had barely turned six. House Sri could not have been prouder. 

Juliette sighed. A year later came headaches. Just a phase, they said -- a phase she never outgrew. The headaches became ocular ulcers, then nosebleeds. Then seizures. 

A flat, electrical hum brought her attention back to Lorot. A brilliant green beam angled down from the top of the doors and swept back and forth over his form. The door made several clicks and clunks as they grudgingly slid apart. Juliette stared down the cavernous hallway. Would she ever see Renat again? Would she ever see this side of the gate? She stopped and pulled her arm from Danek’s hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Lorot asked.

Juliette clasped her hands in front as she tried to arrange the words tumbling in her mind. “You have been most -- gracious hosts -- and I’m -- I regret -- deeply -- deeply regret if I had done anything to cause offense to the point you would go through a storm--”

Lorot looked at P’nem. P’nem looked at Danek with an arched brow. 

Danek stared back, shaking his head. “I do not think it is anything I have said, Mother.” P’nem turned her gaze to Juliette and took her by the shoulders.

“Is she injured?” Lorot asked.

P’nem knelt and looked intently at Juliette. Her gaze rested on Juliette’s eyes. “Her eyes are bloodshot, but she seems otherwise unharmed. Juliette, could you explain?”

Juliette felt her grasp of the situation slide away like loose sand under her feet. “Isn’t that why we came out in the storm, to leave me at the monastery?”

P’nem tilted her head. “No. Your family has to depart for Betazed soon. I promised your mother you would contact when you were able.”

“My-My family is still on Vulcan?”

“Of course. They did not wish to depart after your episode without speaking to you. Unfortunately, your condition meant that you could not be left around emotional minds. The monastery has the closest holo-projector. I misjudged your condition, and the severity of the storm.” 

“And you’re not leaving me here?”

“If the storm persists, it would be wise to stay a few days, perhaps until the Science Academy is ready for you.” She looked back at the doors, then back at Juliette. Her tightly knit brow softened. “Juliette Sri, Vulcan children have been attending this monastery for centuries. I assure you, the overwhelming majority have returned. Danek has been doing so for two --”

Juliette fell forward and threw her arms around P’nem’s shoulders. She squeezed as hard, so lost in the moment she did not feel P’nem’s sudden physical and psychic stiffness. She awkwardly ended the embrace, stepped back and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s what we do on Betazed.”

P’nem straightened her robes as she stood. “ I suppose Betazoids find it therapeutic. It is not something we do on Vulcan.” 

Juliette’s gaze slid toward Danek and Lorot. “Ever?”

P’nem’s mouth open just slightly, then closed in a tight line. “I’m beginning to see that Betazoids have an entirely different view of what is personal.  Try not to engage in such activities too often.”

Juliette nodded, then paused. “The questions or the hugging?”

“Both.”

Juliette pursed her lips and nodded.

“Come. Your family is waiting.”

Juliette quietly followed as best her aching legs would allow through the gate of the monastery.

The hall opened to a dimly lit courtyard. A Vulcan in pale robes held a torch that appeared ancient but cast a soft glow, that left most of him in shadow.

“Master Surot, Live long and prosper,” P’nem said.

“Peace and long life, Lorot and P’nem,” His voice was soft and gravelly. “You have traveled through inclement weather and bring a guest at a late hour.”

“We were delayed.” 

Juliette was glad the dust on her face hid her blush. 

“It is no matter.” He indicated with the torch to a small table that held a plain earthenware jug and cups next to a basin and towels. “There is water.”

Lorot nodded to Danek, who poured water and gathered towels for everyone. He surveyed the courtyard before asking, “Are the power couplings out again?”

“They are. It is at least confined to the courtyard.”

“I shall take a look before we return. Where are your attendants, Master Surot?” 

“I thought it best to get a sense of your guest first.”

P’nem took a cup and towel from Danek. “Our thoughts do not seem to hurt her.” 

“It is not just her I seek to protect.” 

“I see.”

“I do not,” Lorot stated.

Juliette opened her mouth to speak, but buried her face in the towel instead. When her gaze returned to Surot, he was staring down at her. He was several centimeters shorter than Lorot and his face held a round fullness she’d never seen on a Vulcan. Compared to his fellows, he seemed almost stocky in his simple robes. His shaved head shone in the torchlight.

“Live long and prosper, Juliette Sri.”

Juliette struggled to find the Vulcan words. “Peace and long life.”

“I would get a sense of your mind. May I?”

Juliette swallowed as her pulse pounded in her head. She didn’t trust her voice to remain steady, and part of her very much wanted to say no. She forced herself to nod.

Master Surot’s fingertips were cool against her flushed face. She expected to feel the rush of his presence, but only felt the smallest sensation like the chill of a single droplet of water that ran down from the back of her head to the soles of her feet. She tried to connect with it, but it wavered like quicksilver and danced out of the way.

“Do not. Keep your mind still. It is all new, I know. It will all be new. From now on, use your voice first and foremost, Juliette Sri. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, I understand,” she paused, and then remembered, “Master Surot.”

“I sense a weariness. You have recently extended yourself?”

“Yes, Master Surot. There was a sehlat that hunted us on the way here. She was hungry.”

“She.” Surot repeated in a way that Juliette couldn’t help be feel she had missed something important. “You injured yourself scaring it -- her -- away.”

“P’nem might have killed her if I didn’t.”

“P’nem is quite skilled with a rifle, Juliette Sri. She would have only killed as a very last resort. You must be careful. One does not connect with the sehlat lightly. They are animals, but intelligent, and strong-willed. You will not heal if you use your abilities recklessly.”

Juliette nodded. She could feel the faint echoes of something that padded in the shadows of her mind. 

The shadows blew away on a breeze, leaving her and Surot. “When your hosts and I were talking, you were going to speak. What were you going to say?”

“I was going to say you didn’t have your attendants with you because you were protecting them from my emotions.”

“You would have been correct.”

Juliette shivered. “Am I that dangerous to them?“

“Not so dangerous, but you must never reach out to anyone without permission.” His fingers left her face. “That can wait. Your family would very much like to talk to you.”


	5. Projection

The howl of the sandstorm faded behind the basalt walls of the monastery until the rough rock stopped and meters of a dull gray alloy began. The broad corridor reminded Juliette more of a hangar with its  machinery curled up like dead insects in a neat row along the walls, separated by light blue banners with delicate Vulcan script. 

The corridor became dimly lit hallways segmented by indirect lights. After several junctures, the  alloy walls gave way to a cavern of rough-cut stone. Projector rings were embedded into the floor and ceiling. Juliette had seen a projector like the one at the monastery at the university. Papa had called it a piece of history, although it was still in use -- assigned to students and faculty who had earned the ire of the communications chair.  They considered it was a piece of something else entirely -- something Papa had made Juliette promise to never, ever repeat.  Most of her friends had better projectors in their homes. Juliette sighed.

After several minutes, and a couple false starts, her family materialized in front of her, flicked, shifted, and settled into being. Papa, Mother, Kanara, Lara – all dressed as they had been when Juliette had—her stomach churned even thinking about the moment. She stepped between the rings and felt the air prickle around her. She expected them to smile when she came into view -- and they did -- though those smiles faded to astonishment. Kanara cupped her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide. Lara burst out laughing.

“Jul! What happened to you?”

Juliette swallowed. She could only imagine the outline of the goggles on her dirty face, the mask dangling around her neck, her dust-caked clothing. She ran her hand through her static-charged hair to smooth the strands that splayed out from her head, only to realize just how grimy the bandages on her hands were. She gave a diffident shrug. “Nothing. There was a storm.” 

Mother’s brows were knit with concern as she knelt in front of Juliette. How strange to see her expression so and not feel her worry. When matron hugged her, the embrace felt wrong, like being hugged with cold plastic tubing. She held Juliette out at arm's length with a perplexed expression.

“It’s the only projector they have, Mother. The one at the institute will be much better. ” 

Her mother’s Her frown deepened as her inspecting gaze went to Juliette’s eyes.

“You are supposed to be resting, healing. Why are your eyes red, daughter?”

“There was a sehlat, Mama.”

“A what?”

Lara was consulted her PADD. “A Vulcan pan-ursoid, matron. They’re about fifteen centimeters…”

“Juliette, you were told--”

Lara continued. “Oh, sorry. Their  _ fangs  _ are fifteen centimeters--”

Sedna’s eyes went wide as her gaze shot to Lara. “What?  _ Fangs _ ?”

“Let me see!” Juliette protested as she lunged for the PADD in Lara’s hands.

Lara pushed Juliette’s hands away. “Hold on, you grubby beggar!”

“But I want to see!” Juliette snapped, hearing something snarl at the back of her mind. She prepared to lunge when her mother’s voice cracked like a whip.

“ _ Juliette Sedna Lynn Deidre Sri!” _

Juliette flinched away from the PADD. Mother only used her entire lineage when she was very,  _ very  _ angry. What  _ had  _ gotten into her? She backed into another form and looked up to Lars.

“Come Jul, leave your Matron to her duties.” They shuffled off to the side of the ring. She hugged him tight. It felt like squeezing a mannequin. 

“I’m sorry Papa, I didn’t mean to make Mother so angry.”

“Not exactly angry, Jul -- You cannot feel her. We thought we would find you quiet and bored at the Vulcan Science Institute. This is all quite a shock. And what was that,  in front of your hosts? You know better.”

“Yes Papa, I’m very sorry. It’s just--”

“Are you alright? Be honest.”

A chill wormed along Juliette’s spine at the seriousness of his tone and nodded.  “I’m tired, and my head hurts, and I burned my hands a little, but it’s not too bad. But Papa, how long do I have to stay here? It’s so sandy and dusty and old.” She took a shuddering breath and fought the urge to cry.

Lars sighed. “I don’t know.” He smirked and tousled her already frantic hair. “Old? You will be old too, little matron.” His form briefly flickered, and the console whined an alarm. “So you have seen a lightning storm in the Forge.”

Juliette paled at the memory. “We had to sit on a mat to keep from getting hit by lightning, and the wind nearly blew me over and the sehlat would have eaten us if P’nem hadn’t shot it and I reached out to it and scared it away. Maton will be pleased I didn’t let it get killed.”

Lars glanced toward the women on the other side as they circled each other. They were not talking -- they didn’t need to. Juliette couldn’t tell if he was part of the conversation. “Perhaps it would be best to let me tell her.”

Juliette bounced anxiously on her heels. “Papa, may I  _ please  _ see what a sehlat looks like?”

Lars held his PADD like a plate. A hologram rose from its surface. There was a small figure of a person next to the image of the sehlat for scale. Even on all fours, the arch of its broad, powerful back of the sehlat topped the figure. The sehlat rose on its hind legs and slashed at the air with broad, powerful forelimbs that ended in long obsidian claws. The head was long and narrow and the fangs dipped well below the chin. Its eye sockets were deeply ridged and its eyes pupil-less as it blinked with not one, but three sets of eyelids.

Lars swallowed and tried to keep his voice upbeat.  “Well, It seems many Vulcan children have them as pets.”

Juliette grasped the edge of the PADD and stared, wide-eyed. “This was not a pet, Papa.” 

“I know, Jul. You must be very careful.” He cupped her cheek in his hand to pull her attention away from the sehlat and back to him. “Promise me you will be careful.”

Juliette grimaced and squirmed away from his fingers. “Papa, this projector is terrible. The one at the Vulcan Academy will be better, right?”

Lars glanced toward the cluster of her mother and sisters. Kanara met Lars’ gaze. “Juliette. We must have a discussion with your hosts, and you must attend. Do you understand?”

The request surprised her. Attending was something older people did for formal meetings between Houses, and negotiations -- things that affected house standing.  Juliette was rarely required to attend -- usually, she was told to find other things to do. She nodded once all that she was being asked sunk in.

“Go tell the Vulcans we wish to speak with them.”

“Yes, Papa.” She found Lorot, P’nem and Master Surot quietly waiting in the hallway outside the projector room. Had they had been listening? 

“My matron wishes to speak to you,” Juliette said as formally as she could. The Vulcans exchanged glances before they all followed her into the projector circle. 

Lara stood close to the periphery as she idly flipped through her PADD. Lars was mildly attentive as  Matron smiled at the Vulcan’s arrival. When Juliette had attended once before, she had been amazed at how casual -- even disjointed -- they could appear and yet instead have formed a carefully coordinated web of communication.

Matron’s  smile was brief. “Normally we have tea before discussing important matters. Your holoprojectors are not up to the task of sharing.”

The Vulcans looked between themselves. Master Surot said, “Our equipment is old but serviceable.”

“I imagine the storm, which you saw fit to drag my daughter through, is not helping.”

“The storm will pass.” Surot said.

“Your storm has created weather alerts over a hundred thousand kilometers of Vulcan,” She set her teacup in her saucer with a frown.

“Even great storms pass.”

P’nem cleared her throat. “We had promised to let Juliette contact you as soon as she was able. I misjudged her recovery, and we were caught in the first front.”

“And hunted by beasts,” Senda concluded with a pointed stare.

“She was as protected as my own family,” P’nem said. “We cannot control the creatures in the Forge.”

“And is my daughter supposed to  _ be in the Forge _ ?”

“It is a suitable temporary arrangement while the Vulcan Science Academy makes preparations,” Master Surot said. 

Sedna’s expression remained placid. Juliette remembered the games they played on Betazed. A group would have one conversation by talking while engaged in a completely different conversation telepathically. Mother was very good at it.  “And how are those  _ preparations? _ ”

Surot folded her hands in his robe. “They are not yet completed.”

“That is clearly the case. Let me rephrase my question.  _ Are they even started? _ ”

Both P’nem and Lorot looked quickly at Master Surot, their eyebrows arched. 

“There are discussions about Juliette’s case-” 

“I did not ask-” Senda cut in. She was not mother at the moment. She was Matron of House Sri, 433rd House of Betazed. Perhaps untrusted with any artifacts  _ as such _ , but a member of the Pentahectad none the less. “I did not ask about discussions around her  _ case. _ I am asking if they have  _ begun  _ preparations to receive my daughter?”

Juliette looked with panic at her Father. His face was calm but strained. He nodded just a little.

P’nem’s gaze leveled at Surot. “Master Surot, I was under the impression that Juliette Sri would stay for a day or two, and then be sent to the Vulcan Science Academy. Why was I not informed the Vulcan Science Academy is still debating whether to take her case?”

“I had not anticipated the Academy would take so long to decide. Would your decisions or actions be any different? Juliette Sri may be with us for a longer period of time. Would you have said no?”

P’nem clenched her jaw, just slightly. “I would have perhaps studied more Betazoid culture.”

“Now is your chance,” Surot said. “There are those on the academy board who are adamant Juliette Sri is beyond our help. In the face of such certainty, only facts will sway, and her staying on Vulcan will help acquire those facts.”

“The Vulcan Science Academy does not even know Juliette is here?” Lorot asked.

Sedna crossed her arms. “Third Scion of House Sri has been brought to Vulcan under false pretenses.” 

Master Surot looked down. “If the Vulcan Science Academy had known of your scion’s arrival, they would have demanded her immediate return to Betazed. They still could. “Are the doctors on Betazed, Matron of House Sri, still considering pithing the paracortex as a solution to your daughter’s condition?”

Juliette wasn’t sure where the paracortex was, other than it was her brain. She remembered wandering the University medical museum, when her eyes had settled on a rack of primitive medical instruments. One had been a long needle, its tarnished point still sharp. The label alongside had said PITHING NEEDLE. 

Juliette trembled as her stomach churned. Attending or no, she reached for her mother’s hand.

Surot nodded. “There really is only one solution in front of us. We shall do our very best to accommodate any requirements Juliette Sri might have.”

Sedna narrowed her eyes. “There will have to be arrangements made if she is to stay at some dust-covered monastery in this Forgery.”

“It is actually called the Forge--” Lorot interjected before P’nem squeezed his elbow.

The hologram of her family flickered, blinked, then disappeared as the lights in the room dimmed. The console on the wall scrolled red script. Master Surot left the circle to prod at the console. “The storm is interfering with the signal--”

Juliette did not wait to see if the signal would return. She leapt over the ring of the holo projector and ran down the hall, back the way they came. The banners and lights of the hallways were a blur as she fled, running until the gravity and atmosphere reigned her back to a panicked stagger. She looked back frantically as she ranA, but she neither saw nor felt anyone following her.  She frantically punched the buttons on the door, half expecting it to be locked. 

The door slid open. The storm had caught up with them and she was blown back by a gritty blast. Juliette slumped down in the doorway, watching the lightning crackle along the courtyard. She could only shield her face with her sleeve and stare out at the storm.

Trapped.


	6. 6: Trapped

Even though  the closing doors cut  off Juliette's view of the storm, she remained where she was and  continued to stare. She was  concealed from the lightning storm and dust; lost to her family; hidden from the Vulcan Science Academy. She sighed, rested her palm against the door and lightly raked her nails across the surface.

_ We are House Sri. Light years mean nothing to us.  _ Those were Matron’s words, but Matron was just a poor hologram reproduced on ancient equipment. In the Forge, there was nothing real enough to rely on. No family, no staff, and  Vulcans were not to be trusted, smarted beings in the galaxy or not.

But hadn’t they already helped? It had been two years since she hadn’t had to wear that ugly helmet. But nothing was fixed. She still couldn’t go home, and while they had helped, they had also lied. Was she a hostage? They didn’t act like she was; no one had made demands, yet. What could they demand of the 433rd House of Betazed? Latinum? She scowled. Vulcans weren’t Ferengi, they didn’t need Latinum, though the monastery certainly was in need of repairs.

She sensed Danek’s presence as he approached. But kept her back to him until he stopped and coughed politely. Even then, she let him wait a little longer before crossing her arms and pivoting to him. His face was pink and clean; his onyx hair was tamed back into its traditional bowl cut. His travelling clothes had been replaced pale blue tunic with dark blue scapular and hood. 

“We have established a connection back to the city. My mother asked me to find you and escort you back.”

She matched his emotionless expression with her own stubborn silence until he arched his brow. Juliette held her hands out from from her sides. The sleeves of the dirty travelling robe drooped off her fingers. “I would like to be more presentable to my family.”

“Very well, I shall escort you to facilities. This way.”

Juliette tried to be more attentive to her route as she followed Danek. As they walked the lights flickered a moment, but resumed their glow.

“You should not wander the hallways without a light. Sometimes the lights go out.” Danek said

Juliette imagined having to grope her way through the pitch black hallways and shivered. “Is that because of the storm?” 

“The storm does not help, but this place, and many of its systems predates the Time of Awakening. “

“How long--”

“Slightly over twenty-two hundred years ago.”

“Oh. How many people are here?”

“One hundred thirty-three in all. There are others, like those who follow Kolinahr, ,who come and go.

Juliette frowned. She had not seen anyone in the hallways at all. “Where is everyone?”

“All the novices and initiates should be sleeping. Even though the monastery is mostly underground, we follow the daylight patterns of the surface. The halls will be brighter during the day.”

“Are we allowed outside?” Juliette asked.

“Of course. There are terraces and gardens.”

Juliette didn’t answer as she contemplated days, if not weeks trapped underground. 

“I am grateful that you were able to scare off the sehlat.” Danek said after several footfalls.

Juliette kept her eyes forward and her back stiff and straight. “I would not have had to, had you not decided to bring me here.”

“We promised your family you could--”

“I was promised to be at the Vulcan Science Academy.” Juliette snapped, “Not this run-down cave.”

“You are right,” Danek said. “It is in deed of repair. But this run-down cave iis where my mother walked the path of Kolinahr. My father’s calligraphy is on many of the banners. My ceremony of bonding was held on the summit, at Surak’s Shrine.

Juliette’s rubbed her temples. Hosts or captors, it did her no good to antagonize them. “I am sorry. I did not mean to offend.”

“I am a Vulcan, Juliette. To be offended is to be emotional. I am not emotional.”

“And you were not scared in the storm?”

Danek folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe and looked down for several steps. He stopped by a door and nodded toward it. “I will find you fresh robes.”

The facilities was spartan but serviceable, and more importantly, a better place for her to think. She hung the travelling disheveled travelling robe on a hook and washed away the layers of dust she best she could in the basin. Escape seemed a very remote possibility. Vulcans were stronger and faster than she was and were acclimated to the climate and heavier gravity of their homeworld. Even if she managed to get away from them and survive the Forge alone, where would she go? To return to Betazed meant death or worse. Juliette shuddered at the memory of the needle. 

She looked into the tall, narrow mirror on the wall. Sunken, bloodshot eyes stared. Her cheeks and forehead were windburned. Her hair refused to obediently lie and formed a dirty sprawl. No wonder matron had been so startled. Much of the Vulcan dust had filtered passed her robe and gave the hiking outfit she’d worn underneath a travel-worn look. The bandage on her hand had unraveled. The skin of her hand was pink and mottled with the remnants of blisters.  Juliette hugged her knees tight against herself and sobbed.

“There-there.”

The sound took Juliette completely by surprise. A Vulcan stood in front of her. She had a face that started narrow and sharply wedged to a fine, pointed chin while her ears pushed outward from her head. Her slender mouth seemed permanently fixed into a small frown as she studied Juliette appraisingly. Unlike Juliette’s hair, the Vulcan’s hair formed a smooth cap without a single strand out of place. Juliette looked at the girl incredulously and tried to comprehend what she had just said.

“There-there,” She repeated. Her lips hardly moved.

“I was quite certain it would not work,” another voice said. In the doorway was another Vulcan, his skin was dark brown, his hair cut severely short, yet still managed for form tight curls against his scalp. “The technique probably does not work on Terrans.”

“When I observed the technique, Syvok, it was from one Terran to another,” she responded in a tone that bordered on the aloof.

“You might have mis-observed. Are you certain they were Terran?”

“She is not--” Juliette heard Danek’s voice from behind the entrance.

“Of course, that’s because I forgot the pat,” She said as she leaned forward. Her expression held no warmth as it loomed in front of her. “Therethere,” she said as she gently patted the top of Juliette’s hand with her own.

Juliette felt the rush of contact as their hands touched. Her name was T’Mar. She lived in ShiKahr, and had come with Syvok from the lower levels to watch the lightning storm when she had become curious at Danek waiting outside the facility. Juliette frantically tried to close the connection, but the images and memories that rushed to her exploded in sharp fragments.

Juliette wasn’t sure who had screamed louder. T’Mar grip crushed Juliette’s bandaged hand and she felt a series of wet pops from her knuckles to her shoulder. This was nothing like the sehlat -- she had no sense of anything.

_ Juliette Sri. You must release T’Mar.  _

Juliette couldn’t respond. It sounded like Surot, but she wasn’t even sure what she was hearing was real. She was shattering like T’Mar, exploding, dissolving. 

_ I regret there is no option without pain, Juliette Sri. _

She felt a sharp stab, a hook catching whatever was left. It pulled her downward.


	7. Distance

She was quite familiar with medical facilities, though few had been as old or as spartan. The room was not much larger than the three bio-beds it contained. The walls were the same uniform gray color, and consisted of rows of shelves, cupboards and drawers with a single space in the middle of the far wall spared an ancient console. The biobeds were flat, gray alloy boxes. Red plastic restraints dangled from a railing. For a moment, Juliette wondered if she had become part of some diorama, and she looked for the open wall and stream of visitors, eating their snacks and gawk at the only Betazoid on Vulcan as they strolled by. She was an exhibit without an audience. 

Her fingers traced along the triangular bruise that started at her neck and pointed at her collarbone. Her hand throbbed and she gingerly slid it out from under the covers. The top of her hand had several purple bruises. Her fingers were stiff, and movement freshened the pain. 

A Vulcan woman holding a tray strode into the room. She set the tray on a shelf before examining Juliette’s console. She was by far the oldest vulcan Juliette had seen -- her face was deeply lined and even her ears were wrinkly. Her nose was crooked a little to the left.

Juliette felt strong fingers grasp her chin. She flinched at the contact and pulled back as far as the bed would allow, her gaze stubbornly downturned. Her neck burned from the sudden motion.

“Stop,” the Vulcan said firmly and forced her hands into Juliette’s vision for her to see the thin gloves over her hands before firmly holding her again and tilted Juliette’s head side to side. Juliette winced with each movement. As their eyes met, Juliette felt a solid wall just behind the Vulcan’s slate gaze. 

“The metacarpophalangeal joints of your first and fourth fingers were dislocated, but have been reset.” The Vulcan released Juliette’s hand.  “You should refrain from using it too much. The marks from the nerve-pinch will get darker, then fade. Betazoids bruise easily.” 

The Vulcan took the tray from the shelf and placed it in Juliette’s lap, who looked down at a small collection of ramekins and a cup of what Juliette experimentally determined to be a slightly tart fruit juice. Two other bowls held different types of berries while another bowl held room-temperature gruel that Juliette, realizing how hungry she was, couldn’t help but devour. When the bowl halfway finished, she remembered her manners. 

“I’m Juliette.”

The Vulcan did not look up from her work. “I’m aware of that. I am P’mera.”

“Is T’Mar alright?” 

“She will heal. Perhaps this will be a lesson to her that she should not be wandering about when she’s supposed to be resting.” 

“Please tell her I am very sorry.”

P’mera’s face remained neutral as she studied the console but her lips were  pressed so tight to almost disappear. “I see no reason to convey your feelings of regret. Such emotion is closer to the cause of her current injury than its prevention.” She silently worked for a long moment, time which Juliette used the silence to ensure the ramekins were empty.

“What about my family? They are waiting for me at the holo-projector.”

“Your time at the holo projector ended many hours ago. You have been unconscious for over a day. They insisted to talk to you when you are able.”

“I’m able now.” Juliette said, forcing herself upright.

P’mera pushed her back into bed. “You certainly are not. You will be assigned a cell in the women’s wing and duties like any other novice.”

Juliette felt the gruel sour in her stomach at the thought her family gone. Couldn’t they have waited, even for a day? Even though she’d eaten little in the last day, she couldn’t bring herself to eat any more.

P’mera left and shortly returned. Once she had determined Juliette was suitably decent, Surot was allowed in the room. His hands were buried in the sleeves of his robe as he regarded her, his gaze flicking to the bruise on her neck.

“You appear rested.” He looked over to P’mera. “Your efforts are to be commended.”

P’mera took Juliette’s tray without a glance toward Juliette. “I have supplies to organize.” 

Juliette followed her departure with her gaze. “I think I’ve offended her.”

“No more than usual. She is quite conversant today.”

Juliette couldn’t tell if he was joking. A Vulcan, joke?. “I would like to speak to my parents.”

“They will be back on Betazed in five point four five days. I’m sure it will be their first priority to make such arrangements. It is best to get you into a routine, and to do so, we must assign you to a group of novices. You will share a cell section with them and live within their schedule of meditation, labor and learning. Our methods of education are different, but your level of scholarship seems comparable. Your skill in meditation will be far below that of your group. I will tutor you in this area. Do you feel well enough to walk?”

Juliette nodded. Surot rose and quietly waited in the hallway. P’mera returned with a simple cream chinton that reached her ankles with an ocre scapular, and sandals. 

Juliette paused in dressing and ran her hands through her hair. Its shape felt strange. “Is there a mirror?” 

“One does not keep Master Surot waiting.” P’mera tugged the shoulders of the tunic into place and with a nod dismissed Juliette, who fled to the hallway and wished she had sleeves to hide her injured hand. Master Surot nodded with satisfaction at her arrival and turned without a word and proceeded with long Vulcan strides. The hallway was far brighter than her arrival, and much further down, she saw other robed figures traversing the halls.

“Did P’nem tell you the history of this monastery?” 

“Danek said it was once a fortress.”

“His is correct. It is still a fortress, and has been before the Time of Awakening. 

“What is the Time of Awakening?”

Master Surok stopped at a doorway that made a grinding sound as it slid open, revealing a small alcove. The floor bounced slightly as they stepped inside. He pressed a button. Juliette snatched at the handrail as the elevator lurched downward. 

“It is a time when Surak led us away from a savage existence and toward rational thought and emotional mastery. The path of Kolinahr.

“Kol-”

“The process of and the one achieves when all emotion has been purged.”

Juliette was quiet as the floor bounced to a stop and the door opened again. “Even love?” 

Master Surot turned a little toward Juliette. “Of course. Love can be just as destructive as any other powerful emotion.”

“I love my family. I’d never want to lose that.”

“One can respect and revere their family without enduring the sentiment of love.”

“That’s not the same.”

“It is not. It is better.” He stopped. “We will discuss this more later. It is important to get to know the monastery. It has twenty levels, with several sub-levels. In its long history it was expanded and modified. The top five levels are a museum, and those that cross the Plain of Blood may visit for rest or to meditate. Level six through fifteen are the monastery proper, with many younger vulcans using the facility as a school as well. Your lessons will be on level ten through twelve, and you will reside on level fifteen. You should not venture above level ten until you have some control over your abilities. Not all that visit the monastery are Vulcans and not even all Vulcans are Kolinhar masters. The students, of course, practice doing so every day as part of their meditation, and should pose no threat -- provided you do not touch them.”

Juliette nodded as she gingerly rubbed her bruised hand.

Surot abruptly turned and strode down a different hall. As he passed, Vulcans stopped and bowed shallowly toward Master Surot, while giving her a wide distance. Juliette was surprised to see T’mar as they turned another corner as was unsure whether to greet her or not. She bowed to Master Surot. Her eyes were pink and bloodshot - symptoms Juliette knew well.

“This is a women’s wing,” Matter Surtout said. “Traditionally, men go no further. T’mar will take you to your cell, and will assist in your acclimation.”

Juliette tried to bow as gracefully and as naturally as T’mar, but she felt awkward. Betazoids touched hands, or kissed on the cheek, or hugged real tight. Vulcans closed distance but never connected. With that, T’Mar abruptly turned and glided down the corridor. Juliette hurried to catch up.

T’mar stopped in front of a doorway “This is your room. Put your hand here.”

Juliette put her hand on the wall plate by the door. A green line moved up and down the plate. The door rumbled open.

The room was a rectangular box with a sleeping mat, trunk and light. A kneeling stool was along the wall, along with a short table. Juliette slowly paced the perimeter of the room. 

“This seems,” Juliette groped for a word. “functional.”

“The purpose of the room is rest and meditation. It is well-suited for those tasks.”

“What about--”

“Facilities are shared.”

Juliette swallowed, fumbling for the words. “I wanted to convey how sor-- I wanted to convey my  _ regrets _ that you were injured.”

“I, too, regret that my actions led to our injury. I will not touch you again.”

“Your eyes should heal in a few days. At least mine do.”

“So P’Mera has informed me.”

Juliette smiled, T’Mar did not. 

Juliette laughed nervously and ran her fingers through her hair. Her hair felt wrong. Very wrong. “T’Mar, does my hair  _ look _ different?”

“Of course. Your hair was cut while you were--”

“Please, I really need a mirror.”

T’Mar stared for a moment, then turned. “This way.”

The full length mirror in the facility confirmed her horror. To accommodate the helmet, Matron had found the most attentive of designers to cut her hair. Short hair was never popular on Betazed, but at least when she could remove the helmet, no one thought her hair to be unattractive.

“This is horrible.” Juliette sighed.

“I fail to see the horror.” T’Mar said.

Juliette ignored her. “I look freakish and stupid.” Each turn in the mirror revealed more butchery. 

T’Mar coughed politely. “You have been given access to the consoles so that if you get lost, you can use them to find your way back. Our Initiate is T’Sana, T’Kyn is our Attendant.” 

“Maybe I can wear a hood.”

“Only those in seeking Kolinahr wear hoods indoors. You hardly need that.”

Juliette continued to gawk at the mirror fretfully.

“Be sure to shake your robes out each morning.  _ Wrik’ted  _ like warmth and residual moisture. 

“Shaving it all off would be worse, wouldn’t it?”

“When you are done, Danek requested to speak with you.”

“I -- What?” 

“Danek asked to speak with you.”

Juliette started to ask for a scarf, but T’Mar had already spun away. Juliette followed her through the maze of corridors to a lift and up several levels to a large hall with long tables. A novice looked at her face and took an abrupt step backward.

“This is our common dining area. The consoles will chime meal times. While most of the time meals are staggered, there are times when we all meet here.”

Juliette recognized the other Vulcan with Danek as one the other Vulcan present when T’mar had touched her. “Juliette Sri.” Danek said formally. “This is Syvok. Syvok, this is Juliette Sri, she is from Betazed.”

Juliette tried out her best Vulcan. “Live long and prosper, Syvok” 

Syvok paused, and she sensed a moment of confusion. He had not expected her to use a formal greeting, and he was quickly re-forming his words. His response was in standard, “Peace, and long life. What purpose is a Betazoid at a Vulcan monastery?” 

Juliette was torn between scowling and cringing at Syvok when she noticed pink flecks in Danek’s eyes.

“I had no idea that you were hurt too. I deeply regr--”

“It is no matter.” Danek’s reply was terse and quick.

“Has P’Me-”

“It is nothing.” Danek looked away. “Please.”

“It will clear--”

“There is no reason to speak any more of this.” T’Mar said. Juliette couldn’t decipher her tone. Was it -- irritation?

Syvok’ss frown deepened, and he looked about uncomfortably. Juliette noticed his eyes were clear. But Syvok had been closer than Danek, but somehow had avoided what clearly had reached far enough to affect Danek. The questions tumbled over each other in her mind, but she sensed asking would only deepen their discomfort. It was a relief that the lights flickered.

“Is it still storming?” Juliette asked

“It shall be for several days.” Syvock said. “We shall all have to help remove sand from the top levels when it is over.”

“If we are fortunate, the curtains over the gardens will hold.” 

“Does that mean your parents are still here, Danek?” 

Danek nodded. “They are helping with maintenance on the upper levels.”

“What did you wish to speak to Juliette about?”  T’Mar asked Danek.

“I wanted to make sure she was alright.”

“You did not trust P’Mera’s prognosis?”

Danek tilted his head slightly. “I have complete faith in her abilities.”

“You have seen her. She is fine. Now we--”

“Why were you at the facilities?” Juliette asked, cutting off T’Mar’s statement. She had not had a chance to be a group of people since she got on Vulcan, and wasn’t going to let T’Mar cut it short.

Even if it ended badly.

“What?”

“P’Mera said you were supposed to be resting. But our wing is at least three--”

“Four.” Syvok corrected. T’Mar looked at him pointedly as Juliette continued.

“--four levels down. What were you doing up and about?”

T’Mar lips moved until words came out. “That is not your concern.” Juliette smiled to herself. Matron would have been proud.

“I am an Initiate, T’Mar,” Danek said. “So it is --”

“She was looking for the secret levels.” Syvok said as he returned T’Mar’s stare.

“Secret levels?” Juliette asked, then noticed the attention of all the vulcans of the common area on her. She crossed her arms and cringed in silence.

“It is late.” Danek said.

“It is.” T’Mar agreed.

Juliette said nothing, and obediently followed as T’Mar’s crisp departure.

T’Mar stopped in front of Juliette’s door. “Your console will chime a half hour before morning meditation.” 

Juliette nodded quietly. “About those secret levels.”

“They are not your concern.”

“Maybe I can help find them. It would be fun.”

“I’m sure you will have duties.” T’Mar said, and whirled away. Juliette watched her walk down the hallway, dumbfounded.

Inside her room, she threw her sandal hard enough to make a loud slap. She nearly threw the other, but let it slide down to the floor and threw herself to the sleeping mat instead. Her hair was destroyed. The Vulcans didn’t want her. Her family couldn’t bother staying to say goodbye to her.

Fine.


	8. Friends, Family, Conspirators

Juliette could only see her family’s feet and ankles beyond the cowl that dipped low over her head. “I endure as best as able, Mother. I share my dirty cell with poisonous insects. I live on berries on runny gruel. If I do not obey they threaten to leave me outside for the sehlat.”

“Daughter, why do you wear that outfit?” Juliette heard a weary irritation in her mother’s tone.

“I have become a novice of the monastery of the Forge, mother. Vulcan monks have worn such for centuries.” Juliette was quite pleased with herself for keeping her voice flat and steady, and  that she had managed to step into the holo projector ring without tripping on the long hem of the robe made for a Vulcan at least a decimeter taller than herself.

“Master Surot, is my daughter required to wear such garb?”

“She is not. Nor have we left her outside for the sehlat.”

“Daughter.”

“Yes, Matron?”

“Remove that silly getup at once.”

Juliette flipped back the cowl. She could  finally see her family, and they her. Juliette had hoped for a better reaction. Only her sisters conveyed the right amount of indignation and surprise as they looked back and forth between each other and Juliette’s hair. Papa just shook his head. Mother’s eyes only narrowed slightly at the sight of Juliette’s layered bob butchered into a traditional Vulcan bowl. 

“So my daughter has decided to become Vulcan after all?”

“No Matron, it was not my choice.” Juliette turned her head side to side to show off the pointy sideburns. “It’s hideous.” With her vision unobstructed, she was surprised to see T’Mar standing next to Master Surot.

Her mother’s gaze cut to Master Surot. “ _ Is  _ this required?”

“Not exactly a requirement, but it is by far the most efficient--”

“And it is the least of the torments I’ve been subjected to.” She yanked the collar of her tunic aside to show the mottling of bruises that formed a triangle toward her collarbone.

Sedna leaned over and closely inspected the bruises. “You’ve had worse falling out of a tree.”

“But Mother--” She held up her hand to show the purple splotches along her knuckles.

Sedna raised her finger at Juliette, who became silent. “I expect fresh scans to ensure her hand and neck are healing appropriately.”

Master Surot bowed slightly. “Of course.”

“Now daughter--”

Juliette hiked up her sleeve to reveal a staggering of circular welts up her arm.  “Look! These are from a Wrik’ted.  It was in my robe mother when I put it on this morning. It's brown, and its hairy and has ten legs and it's bigger than--” She put her hands together, joined at the thumb.

“Sometimes they are larger.” T'Mar said with a pointed look toward Juliette.

Her mother took a deep breath as she examined the welts “My daughter is exaggerating again?”

Master Surot responded with a minute shake of his head. “This time, she is not. Sometimes they are that big. It seems Betazoids perspire more than Vulcans, and they seek the moisture--”

Juliette tilted her head slightly downward to look up with her most soulful expression. “Mother, please. I want to come home. See, I do not need to wear a helmet and my eyes are clear.”

“There has been progress,” Master Surot said. “But only in as far as she is in an environment that does not cause stress--” 

Juliette thrust her arm upward. “No stress?” 

“Mental stress. She has yet to master her abilities such that she could be around those who do not control their emotions. She has much to learn and as such she will be with other novices.” He nodded to T'Mar.

Lars gestured toward T’Mar. “Well, it’s good to see Juliette is making friends.” His words trailed off as he looked at T’Mar’s sour frown. “Er, friend. Of a sort.”

Master Surot glanced at T’Mar. “I’m sure Juliette will make more than just one fr-”

T'Mar barely moved as she spoke. “I am not her friend. Vulcans do not make friends.”

Master Surot put a hand on T’Mar’s shoulder. “That is not entirely--”

“It is true, Master. I will not prevaricate like Juliette. I am here only because you requested me to be here. Juliette assaulted my mind with her emotions when I tried to use a Terran comforting technique.”

Juliette stopped herself from scowling and straightened. Her reply mocked a Vulcan’s tone. “It was an accident and I have conveyed my regrets.”

“You are dangerous and should not be here.”

Surot arched his brow. Juliette lost composure and  gaped at T’Mar. She whispered, “What?”

Lara glared over her PADD at T'Mar. “Yes, she’s very dangerous. You should be nicer--” she stopped and flinched from Lars’ look.

Master Surot cut in. “T’Mar, your logic is flawed. Juliette Sri needs to be here and we have to accept--”

“My logic may be in error, Master. However, it is consistent with the overwhelming majority of the order. The Betazoid refuses to accept our ways.”

“Juliette has to learn our ways. It is up to us to teach--”

“No one wants her here.”

“That is simply not true.”

Juliette whirled toward her family, her face hot with rage.  “I want to come home  _ now.” _

“That is enough, T’Mar.” Surot said.

“Juliette said my haircut was ugly and stupid,” T’Mar said, crossing her arms.

Sedna’s gaze darted between Juliette and T’Mar. “Juliette, did you--”

Juliette was caught between answering T’Mar and her mother. “I said my haircut was ugly and stupid.”

Kanara murmured, “Well, it is.”

T’Mar said, “Is not Juliette’s hair the same as mine?”

Juliette stammered, “Yes, but -- but I didn’t mean--”

T'Mar turned away from Juliette to face Master Surot. “Master, I am late for meditation.” Her tone was aloof.

Master Surot paused. “Yes, go meditate, T’Mar.”

After T'Mar drifted out of the projection, Sedna said, “I will speak with my daughter privately.” Master Surot bowed shallowly and stepped over the ring to exit the projection without as much as a glance backward. 

Lara leaned in close to Juliette.  “I told you not to let them cut your hair like that.”

Sedna glared at  Kanara and Lara. “I think you have done more than enough. I will speak with both of you after I have spoken with my youngest.”

Juliette barely waited for her sisters to leave the projection circle. “Mother, I want to come home. You heard them, the Vulcan’s hate me, and I ha--”

“Stop.”

Juliette flinched at the shock  in her mother’s words. She stepped back. “See, you hate me too.”

Her mother’s shocked expression softened to sadness. “Come here, Juliette.”

Juliette swallowed tears as she shuffled forward. “Why did you leave me here?”

“Leave you? Oh Juliette.” Her mother looked to Lars. “We never left you.”

“Yes you did! You’re a whole quadrant away and I’m stuck here--”

“Jul,” Lars said as her mother put her hands on her shoulders. “We’re all going to breathe a second, and then you must listen and be brave. Alright?”

Juliette shivered and nodded. She didn’t like how worried they sounded. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, wishing the hands on her shoulders felt more her like mother.

“We’re not sure if the projector can be trusted,” Lars said.

Juliette shivered. More than one opera had the villain use holograms to create lies out of light.  She nodded.

“What we do and what we say over this is never just between us, daughter. So you must think about why we came home - to be among our friends and family.” Sedna said with a deep nod. 

Juliette looked away, trying to hear what they were really saying. Friends, Family. Of course. On Vulcan they were the Sris from the Alpha Quadrant. But on Betazed, they were the 433rd house of the Pentahectad, with connections all the way to the Decadet, even the First House.

Her cheeks continued to burn, but not from rage. “Oh Mother, Papa! I’m so sorry. I thought you just went--” She wiped her face with the sleeve of the robe. 

Her mother tsked as she examined the cuff of Juliette’s. “We never will.”

“Even if these holograms tell you we have.” Lars added.

_ Everything is a lie. _ “What do I do?”

“Talk to us daily. Tell us everything. Do as they ask. Have they made any demands of you?”

“I don’t think so. I’m in classes and meditation all the time.”

Her mother cupped her chin. “Do you really hate the Vulcans?”

Juliette winced as she looked at her mother’s express. She’d almost forgotten how much she could see in her mother’s face without having to feel her -- the worry in her eyes, or the creases at the corner of her eyes. Hate was a terrible thing, and she had nearly said -- “No mother, I’m just scared. You heard T’Mar, they don’t want me here.”

“I know it's hard, daughter, but that is not the same as hate. Your father and I have tried to make sure you never felt anyone’s hate. The Vulcans cannot hate you, they do not feel--”

“But Danek was afraid in the storm.”

Her mother and Lars exchanged puzzled looks. “Perhaps they do not feel as strongly as we do. Do they fear you because of what happened with T’Mar?”

“Maybe a little. The hide their feelings and stay far away from me in class, and I sit by myself at meals.”

“You do not need to be afraid simply because they are. You must be compassionate.”

“Even when they are not?”

“It is easy to care for those that are nice to you. To be forgiving those who haven’t -- that’s what it means to be compassionate.”

Juliette nodded.

“Now, about your classes -- we’ll go over them with Surot. If there are any gaps in your education we’ll make sure you have tutors.”

“Tutors?”

Her mother looked around. “I will not have my daughter being educated to be some sandy-haired provincial Vulcan. You will be educated as a proper scion of the 433rd House.”

Juliette laughed a little, then realized it meant more classes. “But Mother, I already have many classes, and meditation, and I still have to pick a project.”

“Project?” Sedna asked.

“Yes, a project. The gardens, the library, the kitchen, the infirmary...everyone has a project, Mother. Master Surot has been waiting for me to pick one.”

Lars and Sedna looked at each other and their brows arched. Juliette swallowed. That was never a good sign.

 

Juliete emerged from the projection room. “Master Surot?”

“Yes, Novice Sri?”

“Master, my parents wish to speak with you.”

“That, novice Sri, is the least surprising thing you have said all day.” He turned to enter the chamber.

“Master Surot?”

“Yes, Novice Sri?”

“I deeply regret implying that you threatened to feed me to the Sehlat.”

Surot turned and faced Juliette. “I believe it was less than of an implication and more of a direct statement.”

Juliette swallowed, and wrung her hands. “Yes, that is true and I’m sor- umm, I realize that Vulcans don’t like apologies.”

“It is not a matter of liking or not liking apologies, Juliette Sri. Many Vulcans only hear an apology as a feeling of remorse and not an admission of error.”

“I was in error.”

“Nor do they hear the determination not to make the same mistake again.”

“I will not do so again, Master Surot.”

Surot looked down at Juliette for what seemed forever. “Very well. I accept your apology, with faith that your endeavour to not do so again is a sincere one.” He turned back to the projector.

“Master Surot?”

Surot paused.  “Your parents will not be pleased to be kept waiting.”

“Of course. Please let them know I kept you. But I have an idea  about the my project--”

“You have decided on how you will contribute to the monastery? We can certainly discuss it--”

“I’d like to work on the holographic projector system.”

Surot turned back to Juliette, his brow arched. “The monastery’s holographic projection system is a very specialized piece of equipment. Perhaps you should consider the gardens or even the kitchen.”

“But my family has a similar one at the University. My father has specialists that would be willing to help me learn. We could make it so it didn’t flicker as much, or go out during classes.”

“But am I to neglect the kitchens?  It seems there are complaints the plomeek porridge is watery.”

Juliette stood with her mouth open for a few seconds. “Well, I mean, that could be because I add too much Zattre,” she said, recalling how she added spoonful after spoonful of the dark liquid to the bland soup to give it a nutty, sweet flavor.

Surot tilted his head toward Juliette. “I see. Then I would suggest you first see about assisting with restocking our supply of Zattre.”

Juliette swallowed. “Yes, Master Surot.”

“In the meantime, I will speak with Initiate Pylkau, as he maintains the holographic system. If he, along with your parents, are agreeable, then I will allow it. Is that all?”

“Yes, Master Surot.” Juliette said, remembering not to smile. Of course her parents would agree. It had been their idea.

“Then I suggest you return to your studies, or perhaps meditate upon the extraordinary patience of your parents.” 

Juliette tried to make her bow graceful.


	9. The Matron of Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Sandstorm ends. Juliette gets presents from home.

_ One must focus and breathe. Master Surot says Vulcan children can do this as young as six. It sure is quiet. Is the cell soundproof? Don’t think about that, breathe. Focus on each breath of dry, dusty air. They must be cleaning the vents. Do not think about the vents, just breathe. It is silent, just breathing, and the hum of the machinery. The machinery is so old. Everything is old and falling apart. I will be old and fall apart here. Especially if I don’t learn to meditate. Ignore the machinery, the old, dusty machinery that hums. Breathing. The Vulcans focus on breathing to meditate, and sit perfectly still, no matter how much their legs ache or how sleepy they get. Focus on breathing. Master Surot said my mind would wander. This should be easy, just focus on breathing. Take a breath, then another, like a proper Vulcan. I’m not a Vulcan, I just have Vulcan hair and live in a Vulcan cell where no one can know where I am. Don’t think about that. Think about breathing. In -- 1,2,3 -- out -- 1,2,3 -- should I be thinking in Vulcan? Kanara’s face when she saw my hair made it all worth it. Forget Kanara, focus on breathing. I don’t want to forget Kanara or Lara, Matron, or Lars. I want to go home. I’ll never go home if I don’t learn to meditate. Focus on breathing. So sleepy. Do Vulcan’s snore? I’ve never heard them snore, but the cells are soundproof, aren’t they? But if they were I wouldn’t hear the machinery. Breathing. Focus. I have to sit up or I’ll fall asleep. Just breathe. Why can’t I stop my mind from wandering? This is supposed to get easier. Maybe I could achieve Kolinhar? But then I’d give up feeling things. I’d turn into a hologram, and then get turned off. What do -- breathe. Focus on breathing. What do holograms think about when they are off? They’re just computer programs, so they can’t think, right? This is hopeless. _

After a week, the Initiate T’Sana told the novices the sandstorm had ended, and that once cleanup was over, daily duties were to be resumed. Among many of the novices, there was a sense of restrained relief. Three days before, the monastery’s power had stopped, turning familiar corridors into a silent, lightless maze.

Juliette had stood breathless, trapped in the sudden darkness when the collective dismay of every Vulcan in the facility crashed into her, toppling her against a wall which she clung helplessly, fighting the undertow of sudden emotion, her eyes clenched tight. 

The roar ebbed to a stillness intensified by the loss of the ever-present hum that was the mechanical pulse of the monastery. Without circulation, the air settled thick and hot about Juliette as rested her head against the wall. When she opened her eyes and found no more light than when they were closed. After some fumbling her fingers grasped the small light secure inside her sleeve. It stuttered, then flickered, and finally held, the amber glow joining the other motes that floated through the darkness. The initiates’ calm refrain, “Novices, return to your cells.” echoed down the halls.

On the way back, she sensed a swirl of surprise and confusion down another hall. There, she found a novice shuffling along the wall, groping for the emergency light cabinet. The novice’s apprehension faded to relief at the sight of her light, then back toward caution when he realized it was  _ her _ . The novice had courteously thanked her; Juliette gracefully accepted.

Initiate Pylkau had been adamant she was not allowed near the holo-projectors systems until she had completed Master Surot’s first task of replenishing the zattre stocks. The other novices decided they would volunteer to operate the sand blowers instead. Even among the Initiates, Danek was the only one who volunteered.

Danek stepped forward. “I will accompany Novice Sri.”

T’Sana looked sidelong at Juliette, then back to Danek. “That hardly seems proper, traipsing around the desert unescorted.” 

“It is far more proper than sending Novice Sri to collect zattre by herself. She is a guest of my family.”

“I suppose that does make you responsible,” T’Sana said with a gravity that implied deeper responsibility than gathering zattre.

They arranged to meet in the courtyard the following day, and Juliette arrived early, eager to be out and feel real air. She arrived before Danek, but was not alone and she watched a team of novices wrestle with the tarnished hulk of a sand blower, its dingy hoses bucking with each mound of sand it gulped down, only to be spit out over the wall by another team holding an exhaust hose. A heavy clump of sand caused the exhaust hose to tear free from the novices’ hands, and it flailed about. A metal-banded hose whipped by; a novice sprawled backward. Despite his discipline, Juliette felt his sudden pain and surprise.  

She rushed forward to the fallen Vulcan while another pair of novices tackled the thrashing hose.  She helped the tall Vulcan back to his feet. He wobbled dizzily, his nose bent at a bad angle gushed a tributary of olive blood that mixed that from  his torn lip to pooled at his chin and soaked the front of his robe.

“I’ll help you to the infirmary.”

Her voice brought his attention back and he took a staggered away from her. “I will go myself.”

“But you’re--”

Another took the injured Vulcan’s arm. She shouted through her dust-caked mask, “We shall take care of it, Novice.” and hauled the other away without as much of a glance in her direction.

Juliette sat and sulked to the far corner of the courtyard, part of her cheering for the obstinate sand blower, but worried at each plume of dust that escaped its weathered seams that someone might really get hurt. By the time Danek arrived with a pair of shovels and some cloth sacks, her mood was sour and dark.

Isn’t it silly to have a courtyard if it's only going to get filled up with sand every time it storms?” 

“During the time of awakening, much of the mountain was destroyed. This chamber used to be inside the mountain.”

Juliette looked back to the red haze of the courtyard, and tried to imagine it as just another chamber within the rock, then torn open to the sky.  “Their weapons to destroyed part of  the  mountain?” 

“Our weapons nearly destroyed everything.”

Juliette huddled in her robe. “That’s crazy.”

“It was Vulcan before we embraced logic,” Danek said as he held a small lump of moss to Juliette. ”This is Orrus. Be careful not to crush it. It releases a chemical that stings. We will burn it to drive Kli’mari away from their stores of zattre.”

Juliette examined the dry bramble in her hand. Everything on Vulcan seemed to be poisonous, caustic or stung. She looked back to the chaos in the courtyard. Everything.

Danek pushed back the sand drift with his foot in the doorway. The switchbacks were still in shadow; the sun just started to peek over the horizon. He paused and pointed to a myriad of tracks in the silt and outlined a large set. “Look, that’s--”

“Sehlat.”

Juliette matched his look of surprise with a shrug.  She spread her fingers out and hovered the heel of her hand over the track.  Her hand was not even half the length of the track.

Danek said, “Sehlat do not usually come so close to the monastery.”

“Can we follow her?”

“It. And no, we are going out to gather zattre.”

Juliette sighed. “Yes, Initiate Danek.” 

 

The outcropping shimmered in the early morning glow. Juliette squinted. “Oh, I like how that rock shimmers.”

“It’s not. Those are  Kli’mari crawling on the surface.”

Juliette sighed. “Do they bite or sting?”

“Only if the detect us. Watch out for the scouts. They blend in with the ground--”

“There’s one,” Juliette said, pointing. “And there, and there.”

Danek squinted toward the ground. “I do not see them.”

“I don’t  _ see  _ them yet either.”

Danek arched a brow.

Juliette approached the closest scout. Its carapace made it appear as any of the stones that littered the plain. It whirled toward Juliette as she knelt, rearing back on four spindly legs with its two others held high, baring a twin set of curved mandibles far too large for its small head. It lunged, scrabbling across the rocky ground.  

Danek flicked the insect aside with the flat of a shovel. “I suggest caution. Their bites are quite painful. Move slowly, and look for a line of them marching, their zattre stores will be nearb--”

Juliette pointed. “Over there.”  

“Fine, we’ll follow that.”

While his tone was even -- almost casual -- his annoyance prickled against her. “I thought you wanted help.”

“Your assistance is not unappreciated, just I do not wish to return to the monastery early. To do so is to be put be put to work with a sand blower.”

“Oh,” Juliette said, fidgeting with her fingers. She was ruining his plans without even trying. “Well, it is important that I learn more about Vulcan.”

Danek thought for a moment. “I do not think that could be disputed. Though we must be honest to not seem improper. Let us gather the zattre, and then we can practice Federation Standard--”

“Vulcan.”

“And Vulcan. We could even go back home, and help clean up from the storm.”

Juliette frowned. “I thought you were trying to avoid blowing sand.”

“I am trying to avoid blowing sand at the monastery. Home is different, and since it won’t be storming this time, father can take us back to the monastery in the hover.”

A chance to be useful -- even helpful, and  P’nem wasn’t all nervous around her. Juliette warmed to the idea.

The line of Kli’mari led to a small outcropping of squat woody shrubs with deeply ridged bark. One by one, slender Kli’mari marched up the side, and into a small hole burrowed into the barrel-like trunk, alternating with plump ones squeezing their way out.

“They use the water and partially-digested pulp from the Dornyal to make zattre.”

Juliette wrinkled her nose a moment, then shrugged. “It still tastes good.”

“Agreed. We’ll find their storage nearby.” He rose and followed the line of plump Kli’mari to a hole in the ground. Those that left were thinner than those that went in. Danek took his Orrus and held a firestarter to it. The dry moss smoked heavily and Danek shoved it into the hole.

Juliette noticed a puff of dark smoke puff from the ground and a frantic stream of Kli’mari. She watched fascinated until the stream thinned to a trickle. Danek handed Juliette another shovel and they scraped away layers of the hard ground. Danek had her stop as he scraped more gently, revealing a ridged, pulpy bladder. He reached down, twisted at the top, and pulled. It wobbled in his hands.

“You have to make sure to tie off the end of the zattre’kack carefully or it -- Juliette, you should pay attention.”

The words caught in her throat.  _ I feel like we’re being watched. _ But the sense was distant, hazy. If she told Danek, he might want to go back to the monastery. “Oh yes, I’m sorry, I was just looking.”

“At what?”

“At everything.”

Danek finished tying off the zattre’kack. “I find it quite beautiful myself -- especially after being inside so long because of the storms. To the east are a network of caves, that because of background radiations cannot be scanned easily. We are still trying to map them all.”

“Could we--”

“We do not have the time, nor the means to protect ourselves around the caves. Perhaps another time, between sessions at the monastery.”

Other feelings mixed with the attention that nagged at the back of her mind. Caution. Hunger.

Juliette set her Orus clump over the remnants of Danek’s until it caught, reviving the thin trail of smoke that flowed into the hole before she reached into the dirt and hauled out two more bladders from the ground, covered in dust.

“We have enough zattre.”

“Does it spoil?”

“No, but we need to leave enough for the Kli’mari.”

“I felt dozens of sacks.”

“That doesn’t mean we should be greedy.”

“I know,” She placed the third bladder on the ground.  “Can we go now?”

“Or wasteful,” Danek said, his face etched with a frown as the bladder oozed a dense, ebony puddle.

“It won’t. Some animal might find it. They might be hungry.”

Danek crossed his arms, and surveyed the horizon. “I do not see any hungry animals about.”

Juliette grabbed his sleeve and tugged him in a promising direction -- one away from being observed. “No, you don’t.”

  
  


Even with the sun barely over the horizon, its heat brought cobalt-finned lizards lizards from under their rocks to bask and flash their salmon bellies to the in search of a mate. Naturally, the most dazzling were the most venomous. Juliette and Danek traded standard and Vulcan words and phrases until the sun smouldered in the sky and they followed the dusty trail back toward the house. By the time they approached the mesa. The first waves of heat rippled over the plain as the sound of insects baked away to a blistered silence.

“Do you hear...singing?”

“What? No.”

“Yes, I hear music, and singing.” After a moment, Danek winced slightly. “Bad singing. I think it’s for you.”

“What does it say?”

Danek shook his head but walked faster.  Soon, what started as a keening in the desert heat settled into words.

_ Juliette Sri! Juliette Sri _

_ I’m the box, the box for thee! _

_ Its a special day, as all can see, _

_ Because I’m a gift for Juliette Sri. _

 

“It’s a gift box,” Juliette said with a groan, staggering to a slower pace along the dusty trail.

“You do not sound happy to receive it.”

Juliette rolled her eyes. “They’re for children.”

The box repeated the refrain as it squatted near the front door. On the front, a moon-face was embossed in gold and bronze. Its wide smile broadened as they approached.

“Oh Joy! People! Are one of you, Juliette Sri, perhaps?” It asked in singsong tones.

“I am, so you can signing.”

“How can I not sing, when it’s such a wonderful day! I have found Juliette Sri! Juliette Sri, Juliette Sri--”

“Does it always sing?” Danek asked.

“Constantly. Box, Please stop signing.”

“I can see why my mother left it outside.” Danek said.

“No one was home,” the box said. “So here I waited for Juliette Sri--Juliette Sri --”

Juliette and Danek exchanged a look. “It is unusual that she is not home.” He said.

“Help me get it inside, then I’ll find out how to turn it off.”

Danek had a far easier time with his end than Juliette had with hers, but at least she convinced the box to hum instead of sing as they bounced and rattled it down the hallway to her room. With a heave, they managed to get it perched on a small table where it grinned at them expectantly.

“I will see if mother left any messages,” Danek said while Juliette carefully searched the outside of the merrily humming box.

“How do I turn you off?”

“Only Juliette Sri has the key to turn off me!”

“I’m Juliette Sri! Now shut up!”

“You do not have the key, pseudo Sri!”

Juliette pinched the bridge of her nose. “Where is the key?”

The box opened its moon-mouth wide, like a baby bird.

“The key is in your mouth?”

“Ah Hagh.” It nodded, keeping its mouth wide open.

Juliette grimaced and stepped back from the box. “That’s disgusting.” She decided to ignore it and washed the zattre and sand off her hands. 

It hummed open-mouthed. Loudly. Juliette continued to ignore it, and concentrated on rinsing the zattre from her robe. 

The box paused for an exaggerated breath and continued its open mouth sceneade. Juliette glared in the mirror and frowned at her bowl-cut hair, trying to brush it into a different shape.

Behind her, the box continued its song.

“Fine!” She said, storming to the box. She shoved her hand into its mouth, groping round the wet insides for a key.

Its teeth clamped around her wrist. 

Juliette shrieked, as something wet and leathery slathered over her hand between her fingers. She clenched her fist and the slimy tongue slide out of her grasp.  Juliette screamed again, hammering the box with the brush in her free hand.

_ “LeggoLeggoLeggoLeggoLeggo!” _

The box grunted with each smack of the brush across its face. The brush splintered into plastic shards that zinged across the room. Juliette jerked backward, the table wobbled dangerously as she pulled. With a loud smacking sound, the box released. Juliette tumbled backward, stumbling over the meditation bench. She fell backward on the floor, staring at her hand as it dripped with a clear, viscous fluid.

She heard footsteps in the hallway. Danek’s face appeared and he looked about until he found her on the floor.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

Juliette swallowed. The box was quiet, and looked at her wide-eyed. It blinked.

“I-I’m fine,” She said, letting the remnants of the hairbrush drop from her fingers and scrabbling up with the benefit of her unsullied hand.

Danek looked between the box and Juliette. “Are you sure?”

Juliette nodded wide-eyed as she casually swabbed her hand on her robe. She tried to ignore the glistening smear down the front. “Of course.”

“I’ll go back to my meditation. Father will not be home until late. Mother has business in ShiKahr City, and will be staying over.” He glanced between Juliette and the now-silent box. “I’ll resume my meditation.”

After he was gone, Juliette lunged for the sink, washing her hand with water as hot as she could stand. She glared at the box, and she ground a towel against her hand. “You are horrible. Matron promised I would never get another after my eighth birthday.”

The box lost its cheery countenance as the face went slack. “Forgive me, Juliette Sri, biological verification was necessary.” It’s flat, quiet voice held no singsong or lilt. It wasn’t even jovial.

Juliette’s breath caught, and she slid her door shut. “What’s going on?”

“The holo projector is not to be trusted. This box can provide communications back to Betazed periodically. It is here to see to your safety, Juliette.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the box. “But how can I  trust you?”

The lid clicked and slowly opened wide. 

Nestled among neatly wrapped packages, a leaf was held suspended.

“You may take it out, Scion of House Sri, it is yours.”

“How do I know you won’t grab my arm?” 

“I will not. I swear by Rixx. We are passed the need for games.”

Despite the assurances, Juliette snatched the leaf from inside the gift box. It was suspended in a cube of crystal so clear as to appear floating between her fingers, fresh and healthy as if it had been recently plucked from a vine full of the stuff of hot summer days, stretched and entwined into a velvet tapestry draped over the garden trellises and embracing  tree trunks. How many days had she spent bending and tying lengths of that endless purple skein into bracelets and tiaras until there was scarcely a house within the Pentahectad who had not been gifted by Juliette Sri, the Matron of Summer?

How alike they were -- her, and this leaf trapped in crystal. Sealed or not, the Vulcans would send either one of them back to Betazed if discovered, and without them, there were no velvet gowns; the Matron of Summer would not appear. Juliette wiped her cheek.

“Okay. What now?”

“I am able to send and receive messages back to Betazed, but it takes a long time.”

“How? I thought communication--”

“It is best you do not know, but know that it takes roughly a standard month to do so.  First you must tell me what you remember of your last communication home, and any message you want to get back.  For you, this message: Study. Learn. We love and miss you. Light years mean nothing to us, and you will return to Betazed.”

Juliette’s legs gave out. She sat back on her bed.


	10. Holograms, Refuse and Refusal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Juliette gets news from home, discovers something new and has to make a decision

Box's questions still spun in her head. Describe her day, what she ate, who she talked to. What was being taught in class, and what meditation had she learned. She hadn't talked so much a week, and was tired of the exercise but the box insisted that the devices it contained should be set up as soon as she could. The devices were blocky and heavy and needed to be put in the corners of the ceiling. She asked Danek to help after she had cleaned up some.

"What are these?" Danek asked, hefting the gun metal gray block in his hands.

"I'm not sure," Juliette said as she stood tiptoe on a wobbling table. "Matron sent a message with it that I should set it up as soon as I'm able."

"Matron is your mother?"

"Yes, but matron is head of the house. Not every mother is a matron. My mother is also Matron of House Sri."

"Is that important?"

Juliette tsked, and reached perilously on her tiptoes to seat the device.

"I didn't mean to offend."

"You have to place it all the way into the corner," The box said.

"I trying!" Juliette snapped. She clutched the heavy device in both hands and jumped, the table twisting out from under her feet. Juliette cried out, but instead of falling, the device snapped out legs, and clung in the corner, with a soft whirr its single glass eyes turned to the center as Juliette dangled below.

"Fascinating," Danek said.

Juliette let go, landing on the floor.

"You should have let me do that," Danek said as he righted the table.

"I had it, and yes, House Sri is important. We're a member of the Pentahectad."

"The what?"

"There are a thousand houses that officially guide and lead Betazed. House Sri is in the top five hundred." She grimaced as she dusted her hands on her robe, her fingers suddenly sticky and gritty again. "Zattre got everywhere."

"I'm sure mother will not mind if you get a fresh robe from storage. I thought Betazed was more democratic."

"It is democratic. We have elections and stuff, just it's the houses that really make things happen."

"That's not democratic. Democracy is the will of the people."

"Duh. Houses are made up of people."

"It sounds like an aristocracy."

"It's not."

"You are in error. Any time there is a cabal of ruling families it's -"

"It is not. The family rankings are determined by the people. There's the community rankings, the contribution ranking, the people's familiarity rankings, religious rankings, but they're a joke-"

Danek frowned. "That sounds complicated."

"Of course, it would. I'm getting another robe," she said and left before he could reply.

At home, storage was for rare teas and heirlooms, and the rest was replicated when needed. Juliette had yet to see a working replicator here or at the monastery. P'nem had said the disturbances from the war kept them from functioning. People that lived in the Sas-a-shar had what the needed, or did without. Why anyone did that, when there was a perfectly good city close by, was madness.

Storage was categorized, boxed, sealed and labeled with slender Vulcan script, with the same hermetic quality as the rest of the house. Even the pile of materials to be sent back for de-replication was tidy. Neat, however, did not mean order, and Juliette didn't know where to begin, and wandered between rows of shelves and squinting through the regiments of translucent containers. Toward the top of a shelf, she spied folded cloth and stood on the edge of a lower shelf to reach. It did not budge until she heaved and fell backward into the de-replication pile, scattering old cloth and parts. She started hastily re-piling things before she remembered no one was home except Danek, who was probably arguing with the gift box. Aristocracy. He has some nerve.

Juliette sighed. _Be compassionate_. He couldn't help being ignorant. She started arranging the pile more deliberately. Perhaps she could explain how the houses worked over dinner. When the pile was more or less back the way it was, a piece on the floor caught her eye.

It was a cloak pin, or a broach, in the form of a bird. It's tarnished wings were outspread. As bent and discolored as it was,it was the first piece of jewelry she'd seen. A piece of junk to be de-replicated, but still, she slipped it into the pocket of the fresh robe she found.

When Juliette returned to her room, the devices that crouched in the corners of the ceiling whirred and their singular eyes converged toward the middle of the room, where a person flickered into view. He looked not much older than Juliette and almost as tall as Danek. His pale face held a mischievous smirk and was topped by a perfect-formed wave of jet hair.

"State the nature of the Fashion Emergency." His gaze focused on Juliette, then seized her shoulders turning her around abruptly, his expression frozen in horror. "Oh, red alert. What _is_ that haircut?"

Juliette twisted around. "Stop. Who-What are you?"

He stood a little taller and straightened his shirt with a flourish. "I'm the Emergency Style Hologram." He looked around. "Is this is the _couture_ apocalypse?"

Danek narrowed his eyes. "An ESH?"

He touched Danek's nose with a slender finger. "Got it in one! I am familiar with over twenty thousand styling techniques, and well versed with the latest news from Betazed - House standings, fashions, music -"

"Hairstyling?" Juliette asked.

"Over twenty thousand styles, including-"

Danek shook his head. "This hardly seems and efficient use of-"

"Inefficient?" The hologram crossed his arms and gave the Vulcan a slow once over. "It must have taken a lot of energy to look that dowdy."

"I do not see-"

Both of them looked toward Juliette as she cleared her throat. She sat on the kneeling bench. "Initiate Danek?"

"Novice Sri."

"One is grateful for your assistance. "

Danek gave a shallow nod. "I am pleased I could be of-"

"Don't you have any meditating to do? I would like some time to evaluate this ESH." She cast a meaningful look toward the door.

Danek's serene expression was marred by a small frown. "I suppose I do."

Juliette waited for the door to close before casting a pleading look to the EHH. "Fix me."

With a curt nod, he opened the box. "As the matron wishes. Let me get my things."

"Do you have a name?"

He placed scissors and comb on the table with surgical precision. "I can respond to any name you give me, though consistency is helpful."

"Okay, let me think on that, but first, tell me what's going on back home."

First a wash, then a cut. The ESH chattered. Juliette was not unmissed on Betazed, and questions to House Sri about the whereabouts of its off-world scion were carefully fended off under the guise of 'last ditch treatment'. The great houses expressed their best wishes and invoked many artifacts, adding an air of mysticism to an already growing enigma. The mystery, coupled with events and portents which, both beneficial and dire, created an atmosphere which sent those that tracked house standing into a frenzy which could be felt for kilometers.

Lara had entered into the Starfleet preparatory program, a move that chagrinned both Matron and the pentahectad as a whole, many of whom still blamed Starfleet for the Dominion occupation still, even after a quarter-century. Kanara is angry most of all - her father died fighting for the resistance, after all. But she had never known him, and while sad, a consort seemed no reason to be angry at a sister.

Juliette sighed, the velvet creeper leaf cradled in her palms. So much, so quickly. It would all change without her. She felt the light rap of a comb on her head.

"Do not fret, Scion. Your hair is salvageable."

"It's not my hair that's bothering me."

"Well, it should be. Passion operas have turned into bloody tragedies for less, your haircut is enough to make Rixx weep. But I have once again lived up to the promise of my manufacture! Behold!" As he stood in front of her, the shape of his chest flattened, and became silvery.

Juliette turned her head as she studied her reflection, pleased that her bangs didn't just lie there like a curtain. "Does my family miss me?"

"Like no other."

"I miss them. Box, make sure they know."

"They will be the very first words sent, Scion," the box said with a nod of its moon-face.

"Don't leave me in suspense," The ESH whined. "Is it wonderful, or the most wonderful?"

Juliette turned her head to the other side. Unlike the bangs which clung to her forehead, the hair at the back of her head was full, and stood out, layered over a shaved portion at the base of her skull. It was a small change from the previous cut, but made the bowl less uniform and more playful. "I like it."

The ESH swooned. "She only likes it! I'm a failure." He clutched his scissors high above his chest, ready to plunge them downward.

So theatrical. He was a delight and she wished there were ten of him. She put her nose to the air and proclaimed, "May I remind you that I am a Scion of House Sri-"

"Who could forget?" The ESH gave her a sweeping bow.

"-of the Four Hundred and Thirty-Third House of Betazed? What we like is equal to a hundred adoration of distinguished, if lesser houses-"

"At least a hundred!" said Box,

"Who we are pledged to provide patronage," Juliette rushed to add.

"I stand corrected," the ESH, giving Juliette a wink.

"And I do love it, " Juliette said when she caught her breath from laughing.

"You're not saying that to be kind?"

"I'm not, though we are famed for our compassion," Juliette said, looking more closely with a hand mirror. The style grew on her the more she looked. She laughed and shook her head a little, and turned to the ESH with a smile that faded as she saw him with the helmet in his hands. "You have my permission to destroy that."

"I'm afraid it's still necessary, Scion," the box said.

"For what?"

"Measurement of your progress." the ESH said, pulling a set of tools from the gift box and set to work on the helmet.

Juliette stood and peered into an empty box. "I didn't see tools in there."

"Not everything in the box is for you." The ESH said, fiddling with the helmet.

"What else is in there?"

"Things," The ESH said.

"Odds and ends," The box added.

Juliette frowned. "You're both playing with me."

The ESH lowered the helmet on her head. "Scowling creates wrinkles, Scion, please do bear with it - it's only for ten minutes." He pressed it down tight, securing the straps. "Just to take a reading. Now, serious matters. Have the Vulcans made any demands?"

JJuliette felt her merriment drain away. "No."

The ESH sighed. "The Vulcans have made no demands of the family, to keep your location on Vulcan a secret."

"I wish I could go home," Juliette said with her own sigh, falling back to a seat on her bed.

"You could go home," the ESH said in a quiet voice.

"But the emotions, the thoughts - they were too much. I thought the only answer was-

The ESH nodded, placing a hand on her shoulder. "The doctors would have to put a psilosynine neutralizer in your paracortex."

Juliette rested her cheek against the ESH's hand. It was warm, far more real than any projection at the monastery, but the most important part, the presence - that wonderful cloud of emotions and thoughts that surrounded any living, thinking being - was absent.

"The procedure is painless," said the box.

"But then I'd lose my abilities, wouldn't I?"

The box was no longer smiling. "Yes, you would."

"Forever?"

"The procedure is currently irreversible," the box said.

"I don't want to be inert," Juliette said, her hands squeezing the leaf in its case. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you have options, Scion, " The ESH said. "Your family wants you to know that. Whether you can feel it or not, the love of House Sri is immutable."

"There are no options," Juliette said, her frantic gaze darting between them. "The whole world filled with holograms? The only way to speak is with my tongue? The only way to hear is with my ears? Alone?" Juliette shuddered. "That's not an option, that's a prison."

"Many have gone through the procedure," the box said, "and have gone on to live happy-"

Juliette felt numb as she shook her head. She could still remember that moment when her presence emerged. Words couldn't approach the moment when she could feel everything, and everyone was so close, so connected. "I'd rather die," She said, and for a moment was surprised at how hollow and calm she felt. "I would. I'd rather be dead, and if I'd rather be dead, I can stay on Vulcan."

The hologram and the box looked at each other. Juliette felt her hands aching and relaxed her grip on the case. The corners had dug deep red marks in her palms.

"I win the bet," the box said to the ESH.

Juliette's gaze darted between the two, then narrowed on the ESH. "You bet I'd opt to be inert?"

The ESH unstrapped the helmet. "It's not a bet if someone doesn't take the other side. Besides, who could possibly want to live in this fashion wasteland?"


	11. Dinner, and a Passion Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorot returns home without P'nem and amid confrontations, Juliette learns the basics of calligraphy

Juliette emerged from her room clean, scrubbed, and wearing the robe she had found in storage. Danek briefly looked Juliette over and tilted his head to the side.

"I have seen similar hair styles in ShiKahr. It...suits you, and I do not think Master Surot will mind."

Juliette brushed her fingers along the side of her head, pleased with even a watery compliment. "Thank you."

"It will, however, add to the discussion that you do not accept our ways."

Juliette forced herself not to scowl. "Where in the teachings of Surak does it say how one wears their hair?"

Danek held up his hands. "I am not arguing. It is the logical conclusion to their line of thought."

"Let them come to whatever conclusion they want, logical or not. They cannot talk to me less, or avoid me more."

"No, they cannot shun you more."

Juliette narrowed her eyes at Danek. "They would shun you?"

"People come to live in the Sas-a-shar to live simply, closer to how Sarek lived, to achieve Kolinahr the same way he did. When we came home, the courtyard was not full of sand because while my parents were at the monastery so your parents could contact you, T'Lor and her family helped maintain the screen. The families that live in the Sas-a-shar only have each other for support."

"And they would stop supporting you because my hair is different?"

"I don't know. They already regard us as outsiders. Father does not walk the pilgrimage across the Plain of Blood as often as the others, and Mother doesn't-" He stopped. Juliette's ears rang from the pressure of his anxiety and - anger?

"Father is home," Danek said and spun without a further word to his room. I was several seconds before she, too, heard the air car arrive. She stood helpless as the door opened.

"What are you doing home?" Lorot asked first Juliette, then looked to Danek, who came from his room his face locked in statuesque calm.

"We were gathering zattre, and wanted to check on the house," Lorot said. "Where is mother?"

Lorot looked between them. "Your mother is in ShiKahr. Something about a jabbering crate for Juliette, and it was either leave or destroy it. It is fortunate you arrived to turn it off. Zattre, you say?"

They both nodded as he looked between them.

"When did you arrive here?"

"Three hours and twenty-two minutes ago."

"And you have been-"

"Assembling Juliette's presents, father." Danek said quickly.

"May I see?"

"Of course!" Juliette said, excited to show off her presents, though a little nervous. Box might start signing again. Luckily, it did not and even the ESH as polite, even if it kept staring at Lorot's hair.

"Fascinating projection array," Lorot said as Juliette scowled at the ESH from where Lorot couldn't see. "Hardened to resist the disturbances of the Sas-a-shar. Quite a feat of engineering. Quadruple buffered?"

"Six buffers. Strip pattern synchronized." The ESH said with some pride.

"So you returned, cleaned up, opened and assembled your presents-" Lorot knelt and picked up a small bit of brush from the floor. He arched his brow.

"I'm very sorry about that," Juliette said. "I was using it to push the emitter in place when it fell."

The Box nodded and gave Juliette a big wink. She wanted to die.

"I shall pick up another in ShiKahr tomorrow," Lorot said. But for now, we should have dinner, and then I will take you back to the monastery.

The plomeek was hot instead of lukewarm, and redroot was crisp instead of a little mushy, and held a surprisingly tart flavor. Most importantly, there were others at Juliette's table. Even in silence, she found comfort in their simple proximity.

Lorot looked up as Juliette was staring, "Your parents sent you a way to cut your hair. Is the monastery cutter broken? Danek's hair didn't seem overly long."

Juliette felt her face go cold. The redroot nearly fell off her fork. "What? No, does it look bad?"

Lorot tilted his head. "It is not. It reminds me of ka."

"Of what?"

"The letter ka, It has a swoop, like so," He pulled up his sleeve and moved his arm and wrist holding his serving spoon as a brush, giving a small flick at the end, "and ends with a rounded end. The novice will make the end perfectly round, but the masters know to make the back half fuller than the front."

"That's right, you did the banners at the monastery," Juliette said, trying to ignore the small splatter of plomeek on the table from Lorot's flourish.

"Some of them. The Sas-a-shar Monastery has had many great calligraphers. I am pleased my work sits among them. I also did the scrollwork in the garden here, and the lettering on the spice rack."

Juliette nodded, embarrassed for not noticing when she had first gone through the house. She resolved to seek them out. "Do you think my hair will be considered improper?"

Lorot arched a brow. "Who would think so? It seems sensible and efficient."

"But it's different from everyone else's'"

"Are they obligated to get the same style?"

Juliette shook her head.

Lorot shrugged. "Then, Juliette Sri, I fail to see your logic."

Danek said, "Forgive me father, but you cannot be unaware of the dissent."

Lorot took a long drink before responding. "Dissent?"

Danek sat back from his plate. "I suspect my father is being deliberately vague."

Juliette wished she could kick Danek under the table. Didn't he see how Lorot was maneuvering the conversation? It was like he'd never had parents! Juliette could only helplessly watch the trap close around Danek as Lorot tilted his head and sip his drink.

"My son would be in error. I have indeed heard perspectives on certain events. In the relating of those events, the word 'dissent' was not used. I do not even know if you speak of the same events. So tell me as if no one has told me anything." He steepled his fingers and sat back.

Juliette sipped at her plomeek while Danek remained quiet. Now he had to explain himself without knowing what other people had said. Juliette made note: Papa wasn't the only one who was more clever than he let on. Now the two Vulcans sat quietly, a contest of wills. But Danek had started the topic; his capitulation was only a matter of time.

"The other initiates feel that we are somehow responsible for Juliette,"

"She is our guest. What are we to responsible for? Her presence here? That is a product of her condition and a glacially slow Science Academy. The alternative is anathema to what we stand for. Perhaps I should speak to Master Surot about what is being taught for logic these days."

"They are wor-they are concerned they could get hurt by accident," Juliette said, unable to let Danek answer alone.

"Like T'Mar was injured when she touched you," Lorot said and looked at Juliette.

Yes, he knew far more than he was letting on. Juliette could only nod, her mouth dry.

Lorot seemed to ponder this. "Regrettable, but it seems there was no permanent injury to T'Mar-"

"And Danek," Juliette added. Danek buried his gaze into his plate.

"And Danek? I had only been told that T'Mar-ah."

Juliette was pleased to surprise Lorot, if only briefly. "Why was Danek also affected and-" she stopped as embarrassment from both Vulcans clouded the mood.

"That is a question best answered by P'nem, and only distracts from the matter at hand. Danek, I believe there is some Tolik ice left. Danel, why don't you get us some?"

Juliette felt a small sliver of relief from Danek as he stood and left the room.

"T'Mar's parents have expressed their concern to me," Lorot said, stacking the plates in a neat pile on the table. "A parent's concern for their child creates lines of many times unfathomable logic. "

"What am I to do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't want them to be scared of me."

"Then you must find ways to allay their fears," Lorot said and after some thought added, "Perhaps, you could wear gloves."

Juliette's mind raced as she considered the possibilities. The only gloves at the monastery were heavy work gloves - certainly thick enough, and long enough. They'd certainly be noticed. What was it that Matron would call it. A gesture.

"I'll do it," Juliette said, setting her cup down with a decisive thunk, as matron would, just as Danek returned with three small bowls. "It is the least I can do, as my being here hurts your position further."

Lorot arched a brow. "Further?"

Juliette froze.

"I have forgotten the spoons," Danek said and whirled back toward the kitchen.

"You have not, my son. They are in your hand."

"I do not think I have had Tolik ice before, how is it made?" Juliette asked.

"You had it the first night you were here, Juliette Sri, though your attempt to change the topic is fascinating. I had thought that Betazoids valued honesty," Lorot said in an even tone.

"No, father, it truly is nothing," Danek said.

"My son's evasiveness makes this all the more interesting. I'll wait." Lorot sat back, his fingertips drumming his long fingers against the tabletop after taking a spoonful of ice.

Juliette sighed and clasped her hands on the table. "It has been said that my inability to follow Vulcan ways is encouraged by my hosts."

"It has been said," Lorot repeated as if tasting the words along with the ice. "Clearly, it did not say itself."

"I hold you in no way responsible," Juliette said, wishing the topic would melt away.

"Nor should you," Lorot said. "My son, Juliette, my wife comes from a situation where convention is very tightly adhered to, and the social implications of not following convention were dire."

"Where was-"

Lorot held up his spoon as if preparing to draw a character in the air. "Do not distract my point. When P'nem, not yet my wife, but bound to me, left that situation, she had precious little use for convention. I, as her bound and betrothed, had no interest in having her adhere to any convention that did not suit her."

"Father," Danek said, "if we are not bound by the conventions of our neighbors, there seems little reason for us to live in a primitive desert."

Juliette offered to clean the bowls if only to get away from the awful silence that filled the room. She took a deep breath to shake off the sudden, if carefully restrained, emotion. Then another, and another. On her third breath, she spied the spice rack Lorot had mentioned on a small shelf along the wall. The rack held a row of six clay pots, each crowned with the bloom of a different spice. The brick red pots were banded in brown, with the lettering gilt in a metallic orange. She turned each pot to follow the graceful letters - each word was only the name of each spice the pot contained, but written with a beauty that rivaled the illumination on the artifacts of Rixx.

On her return, Danek and Lorot had left the dining area. The door to Danek's room was closed. Lorot was in the garden, raking the sands. Juliette crept into the garden and watched as he shaped designs into the sands made dusky in the waning light of the day.

Lorot said, "I had researched Betazoid calligraphy, I was surprised to find it had a thriving community."

"I had no idea, but I remember seeing some in museums."

"On Vulcan, it is a dying art. Much of what you would see in ShiKahr are replications of ancient originals."

"But the monastery still teaches calligraphy."

"Those classes are attended by fewer students each year. Back when I attended the monastery, there were almost a thousand novices. But each year, more attended modern academies in ShiKahr rather than a dusty monastery in the middle of the Sas-a-shar desert. Now, most that remain are those that feel that the way of Kolinahr is across the Plain of Blood, in the footsteps of Surak." Lorot raked across the sand and smoothed to to begin a new set of characters. "In time, the last fortress of the Sas-a-shar will be as empty of novices as it is empty of soldiers. Then, it will be simply another ruin in a mountain."

"I saw the spice rack in the kitchen. Its really beautiful. Does it take long to learn how to do that?"

"Calligraphy takes a lifetime to master, but one can achieve satisfying results fairly quickly. I could show you, if you like."

"Please?"

Juliette found another rake and Lorot showed her ka, igen, and haret. The motions felt alien to her, but she followed as best she could.

"See, you have made passable letters. Well done." Lorot said.

Juliette sighed. Her letters might have been recognizable, while Lorot's script seem to be part of the natural flow of the desert, winding and twisting within the sands until the mind registers the letter.

"It takes time," Lorot said, "Calligraphy is actually a form of meditation, and helps center the mind, and provides something for others to contemplate. The appreciation of beauty is perhaps one of the most universal of traits across the galaxy, even if what is considered beautiful changes from species to species. Perhaps, you can find some kind of art to share with your fellow novices at the monastery - something they can contemplate, and better understand Betazed."

"Maybe. Maybe I could show them a holo of The Prisoner of Mazatan. It a passion opera, and they might enjoy the story."

"What is it about?"

Juliette paused, her breathing shallow as she swallowed. "It's about a child of a powerful House who is convinced to go far away from her home only to find out she is kidnapped."

Lorot stopped mid-letter, then resumed. "Is that so? But why do the kidnappers kidnap the child?"

The line Juliette sketched in the sand was shaky and indistinct. "That's part of the mystery. On Betazed in ancient times, it was not uncommon for a house to have the children of other houses as hostages. They were treated well, but they were hostages nonetheless."

Lorot resumed his script, "How unusual. Toward what end?"

"Sometimes the kidnappers demanded tribute. Sometimes it was to make sure they would not be invaded."

"And did these alleged kidnappers in this opera of yours make demands?"

"Not yet," Juliette replied in a high whisper.

Lorot's hands were tight against the rake as he brushed away the letters in the sand. He paused, and studied Juliette who stared back and waited for her heart to start beating again. His expression held neither malice nor anger, but his jaw was set. Finally he set the rake aside. "I am not sure they would be interested in such a fantasy, and you should be getting back to the monastery."

**Author's Note:**

> A Work in progress. Suggestions welcome


End file.
